


boiled frogs

by gnetophyta



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Anal Sex, Angst, Emotional Abuse, Hand kink I guess, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Post-Canon, Sass out the wazoo, So. Much. Pining., The ending will not be depressing I promise, This became a study of Seijou dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-04-06 03:21:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 91,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4206027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gnetophyta/pseuds/gnetophyta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've always been really close friends, but Hanamaki begins to question how close when Matsukawa begins dating someone else - someone else that doesn't treat him well. When he suspects that Matsukawa may be in an abusive relationship, Hanamaki realizes that opening his best friend's eyes to his situation may be harder than he had ever anticipated. </p><p>(Or alternatively, "I try to write angst and upset myself in the process.")</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i'm always wishing too late

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the [boiling frog anecdote](https://en.wikipedia.org/?title=Boiling_frog) and the [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZcjRlgNXKHQ) of the same name by Alexisonfire. 
> 
> This is my attempt at actually writing a piece of cathartic angst, and I am sorry that it is with my darling Matsuhana children. The emotional abuse will be heavy and pervasive, so if this makes you uncomfortable, you may want to reconsider reading.
> 
> In any case, I'm thinking this will be about 10 chapters long, and the rating may yet go up (ayyyyyyy).

            Issei shut his laptop closed with a soft snap and let his head fall back on the plush couch cushions. He lay draped across the piece of furniture, staring off into space, wondering where he had gone wrong. He was unhappier than he had ever remembered being, even after graduating, but it hadn’t come all at once; no, it had crept up on him slowly, like an ever-increasing temperature threatening to boil him alive. Luckily, the display on his phone lit up and he was momentarily distracted from his ruminations.

 

            _could you go back in time and just stab past me_

_why did you allow me to do a masters_

_youre the worst friend_

_help, asshole_

            He bit back a chuckle, swiping the screen to Hanamaki’s text window.

 

            **_You said you loved learning._**

**_Who am I to keep you from your first love? Lol._ **

_do you know how many shitty decisions i make in a day without you_

_and you also know my cold dead heart is incapable of loving anything but profiteroles_

 

Moving away had been difficult for Issei to adjust to, even if he was with his fiancé; not being able to see his friends on a regular basis left a hole in both his heart and social calendar. Texts and Skype acted as band aids, staunching the majority of the blood flow but doing nothing for the wound itself.

 

            **_It’s not my fault you’re dumb, Makki!_**

 **** _youre a jackass and im glad youre far away_

            ‘I miss you,’ it meant.

 

            **_I’m better off not having your shit to deal with on a daily basis, anyway._**

****

**‘** I miss you too,’ was the reply.

 

            _im unfriending you in real life_

_**Good luck with that. I still have your tiny little baby sweater in my closet.**_

_fuck matsu im not even that much smaller than you_

**_Tiny. Little. Baby. Sweater._ **

**_With Tiny. Little. Baby. Arms._ **

_youre an asshole. im buying you tweezers for your birthday this year_

            **_You’ve been threatening that since second year. I’ll believe it when I see it._**

****

            The phone let Issei know that Takahiro was typing something undoubtedly cutting, but he was distracted from the message when he heard the turning of the lock in the front door. Tucking the phone between two couch cushions, he dragged himself to his feet, brushed a few stray crumbs off his sweatshirt, and put on his most genuine smile. For once, it wasn’t difficult. Talking to your snarky best friend tended to have that effect, even if the conversations were few and far between.

            “Hey, handsome, who were you talking to?” A handsome, gentle-faced blond man strolled towards Matsukawa, the room lit by his blinding smile.

            “Oh, nobody. I was just reading some articles on my phone.” This was a practiced lie, and rolled easily off Issei’s tongue.

            “Hum. You put it away awfully quickly!” Ichiro embraced Issei loosely, running his broad palms up the threadbare sweater.

            “I wanted to give you my full attention, is all.” Matsukawa returned the hug, burying his face in Ichiro’s shoulder and sighing deeply. Luckily, Ichiro wasn’t yet at the level of discerning weary sighs from happy ones.

            “Good!” Pulling away, Ichiro walked across the large living room and threw open the curtains. “You spend way too much of your day in the dark!” The curtains parted with a quiet rustle, spilling golden afternoon light across the immaculate living space. It wasn’t a cold, unwelcoming room, but it felt slightly clinical with the way the furniture was arranged. Ichiro insisted everything follow a strict grid pattern. Issei had to admit that their location was spectacular, even if he was far from everything he knew. The glass-paneled railing allowed more sunlight to flow in from the surroundings and revealed the lush foliage of the trees dotting the street below. The buildings opposite their balcony were pristine and modern, if not a bit tall, but Matsukawa had little reason to complain.

            “Are you hungry? I didn’t really feel like cooking anything today, so I figured we could just out and grab dinner.” Matsukawa suggested, omitting mentioning the fact that he spent most of the day lying in a catatonic haze, trying to come up with reasons to be happy.   

            “I guess we could. What were you doing that had you so busy?”

            “Just stuff. I went and worked out a little.” He hadn’t.

            “I’m glad. Since you stopped playing volleyball, you’ve started getting a little soft!” Ichiro jabbed playfully at Matsukawa’s stomach, who swatted the offending hand away.

            Matsukawa furrowed his brow and insisted, “I’m not getting soft!”

            “You are, a little. I mean, if I’m going to stay this cut, you best keep up or I’m not going to want to sleep with you,” Matsukawa’s face twisted around a frown. He made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat and left the room.

            He didn’t mean that, Matsukawa repeated to his reflection in the bathroom mirror, running a critical eye over his still-firm abdominal muscles casually. It had gotten to the point where he was practicing lying to himself, acting like the words didn’t hurt because he was supposed to be stronger than this. Sturdier. After all, being best friends with Hanamaki ensured that at least a third of the words shared between them were creative insults. His brain unhelpfully supplied that Hanamaki also only meant those in jest and would never deliberately pick on him, no matter what. The bathroom door opened slowly and tentatively.

            “Yes?” Matsukawa gritted out, pulling his sweater back down. Admitting his self-consciousness would be a fate worse than death.

            “You know that I only said that because I know how much better you feel when you’re exercising regularly. You don’t have to get so upset by it and storm off.” Ichiro’s gaze was hard, his hazel eyes dulling with his particular brand of contempt.

            Matsukawa quirked up the corner of his mouth, shoving his hands in the kangaroo pocket at the front of his hoodie.

            “I’m sorry. I overreacted again.”

            “It’s okay. You’ll be fine once you get some of your self-confidence back.” The kiss was brief and unfeeling, but Matsukawa hardly noticed. He had gotten used to these cold displays of affection after many months, and silently thanked whatever deity was listening that the argument hadn’t continued. Once his fiancé had left the room to call for a reservation, Matsukawa slumped on their bed. Colours blossomed behind his eyelids as he pressed the heels of his hands to his face, coughing out a sound caught halfway between a sob and a laugh. _You’re pathetic, Issei_ , he thought, _you really deserve no better._

                       

* * *

 

Five years earlier…

           

* * *

 

             Oikawa, Iwaizumi, Matsukawa and Hanamaki had all decided to go to the same university in Tokyo for several reasons. Oikawa had received the best volleyball scholarship offer for that school in particular, which meant that Iwaizumi wasn’t that far behind. Hanamaki had gotten several scholarships to study molecular biology and do research under a very well known professor, so it was only natural that he accepted his offer, too. Matsukawa figured he could study literature anywhere and since his three closest friends were headed in one direction, he followed happily.

             After Oikawa and Iwaizumi had begun to date officially at the start of college, Hanamaki and Matsukawa grew closer to compensate. They all still spent time together at least once weekly, despite hectic schedules, but between their group hangouts, Matsukawa and Hanamaki had begun having so-called ‘bro nights’ to ‘soothe their eternally single souls.’ Iwaizumi told them they were being overdramatic and Oikawa had made a concerted effort to set them up on blind dates with random strangers. Needless to say, neither was particularly helpful.

             By the third month of school, Hanamaki and Matsukawa were practically joined at the hip, and routinely went to the bar together in hopes of maybe attracting the attention of some potential suitors; this often ended in one or both of them verbally eviscerating some rude kids and stumbling home giggling. Both thought that they just weren’t that lucky in love, or were too snarky, but the fact was that they behaved pretty well like a couple and gave off all the wrong signals. Despite that, they were pretty content with the company they shared.  

           

* * *

 

             Hanamaki stared blankly at the paper before him for several minutes, then promptly decided his attention was better spent on driving his seatmate insane. He poked Matsukawa in the side while maintaining that air of casual indifference that he had perfected over many years by virtue of existing. Matsukawa only grunted in response, turning his head towards Hanamaki.

            “Really?” he droned.

            “What?”

            “Do your homework.”

            “I am.” Hanamaki slumped back in his seat, reaching under the table with his foot to remove Oikawa’s hand from Iwaizumi’s upper thigh.

            “We’re in the library, pervert,” he muttered, smirking as Iwaizumi’s neck turned bright red, turning away from his boyfriend of several months. A devious smile grew on Oikawa’s handsome features.

            “I swear, you’re worse now than you were when you first got together,” Hanamaki noted, scribbling a very detailed part of the male anatomy on Oikawa’s homework assignment. Oikawa almost shrieked when he saw his former teammate pulling out a highlighter to enhance his masterpiece.

            “Makki! No! I have to hand that in!”

            “Calm down, it’s just a dick.” Hanamaki waved a hand at Oikawa dismissively.

            “ _On my homework._ ”

            “A homework dick,” Matsukawa supplied, offering his red pen to Hanamaki. Iwaizumi snorted, returning to his anatomy memorization.

            “Don’t you know that my homework dicks are lucky? Ooh red, yes, perfect, Matsu.”

            “Iwa-chan, defend my honour!”

            “You can defend your own honour. You’re a grown-ass man, not a damsel in distress.”

            “I hate all of you.” Oikawa got up from the table, scraping his wallet across the cheap laminate surface.

            “Stop drawing penises on Oikawa’s homework, please,” Iwaizumi said once Tooru was out of earshot, eyes still focused on his textbook.

            “You’re no fun, Iwaizumi. You used to love tormenting Oikawa with us.” Iwaizumi only grunted.

            “You two are adorable, really. Little married couple,” Matsukawa said, grabbing Hanamaki’s hand and pulling it away from Oikawa’s homework. Iwaizumi made an attempt at a scowl, but the tiniest of grins took its place instead. “Awww.”

            “Shut up!” Shortly after, Oikawa returned to the table with water and snacks for everyone and realized that the _very_ detailed drawing was not actually on the final copy of his homework after all. He still scribbled it out though, pursing his lips in disapproval. Hanamaki and Matsukawa just snickered like twelve-year-old boys.

 

* * *

  

            On a crisp October night, Hanamaki and Matsukawa were making their way back to Matsukawa’s dorm after a successful bar crawl. Matsukawa had, of course,  forgotten to bring a sweater, so Hanamaki had offered his sweatshirt for the way home. It was a loose Seijou hoodie, but the arms were just short enough that the garment looked comically out of place on Matsukawa.

           “Oh my God, Hiro, what is this? A sweater for toddlers?” he teased, stretching his arms out in front of him to exaggerate the sleeve length. Several other students dodged the two on the sidewalk because their limbs were consuming all the free space.

           “It’s small on me, too. I’ve had it since before my growth spurt in second year, okay?”

          “Aw, you are so cute! So cute!” Tipsy Matsukawa actually had the gall to pinch Hanamaki’s cheeks, unashamedly using baby talk to communicate with him. It was when Matsukawa stopped with the chatter and stood facing Hanamaki that everything stilled. Their eyes were both glassy and unfocused, breath reeking sweetly of liquor, yet for some reason, it struck them both that they should probably be kissing. They reached for each other at nearly the same time, bumping noses and cheeks and teeth, and finally pressing their chapped lips together outside in the moonlight. The moment passed as quickly as it came, shattered when Matsukawa’s phone rang shrilly. An unknown number flashed on the screen, and Hanamaki reached over to swipe right. Matsukawa gave him an incredulous look, but remembered to speak when a smooth male voice repeated "Hello?"

          “Oh, um, hello?” he answered, still winded from the kiss. Takahiro gave his best friend a thumbs-up, his eyes barely visible from his drunken squint.

          “Hi, is this Matsukawa Issei?”

          “Yes? Who is this?”

          “It’s Ichiro, from the bar. I’m glad you actually gave me your real number!” Matsukawa met Hanamaki’s outstretched fist in an enthusiastic bump. “I know we both just left, but do you want to go grab coffee this week?”

          “Yeah! Yes, um, of course, sure.” Matsukawa struggled to pull words out of his mind, which had decided instead to supply him with mental images of the blond Adonis that was on the other end of the phone line. He mouthed ‘hell yes!’ but Hanamaki was spaced out, fiddling with the triangle of brown fabric poking out from Matsukawa’s borrowed sweater. The conversation ended scarcely a minute later, leaving the two friends in silence.

          “Makki?”

          “Huh?”

          “What-I mean, we just kissed and I-but this-“

          “We’re both drunk and horny and spend too much time together. It happens. When’s your date?” Takahiro drawled, grinning despite a strange crushing feeling in his chest.

          “We’ll figure it tomorrow. I’m not sober enough to remember stupid things like days of the week.”

          They continued on to the dorms, philosophizing about the universe until Matsukawa stopped in front of his room and turned, frowning.

          “Are you sure this is okay?” he asked quietly.

          “What, sleeping? Sleeping is the fucking best.”

          “Don’t be stupid. I mean, is it okay that I’m gonna go on a date with that guy?”

          “Why wouldn’t it be okay? We’re friends, Matsu, and always will be. It’s not like anyone could possibly be a better person than I am, anyway.”

          Their smiles were thin, and instead of relief, they were seized by an overwhelming sense of regret. Hanamaki followed Matsukawa into his dorm room regardless.

          The next day, everything had returned to normal, and they even joked about the evening having been just another extension of their friendship. However strained the humour may have been at that moment, they still stowed the pleasant memory away in an easily retrievable place.

 

* * *

 

           Matsukawa went on the first of many dates with his half-Australian Adonis later that week, and made sure to call his best friend the moment he got home.

           “Guess what?”

           Hanamaki hadn’t heard Matsukawa this excited since they had found that delicious buffet just off campus.

           “What’s up?” Hanamaki rolled over in bed, finding himself inextricably tangled in the plaid sheets.

           “Did you just wake up?”

           “No, of course not,” Hanamaki lied.

           “You did. You’re in bed, don’t even lie.”

           “I’m not lying.” Takahiro bit his lip to hide the smile in his voice.

           “Lazy turd. Anyway, I just got back from my date with Ichiro.”

           “And?”

           “He’s great. I mean, we managed to talk for what, four hours?”

           “I can hear you grinning, gross. Want to meet me after my class so I can get the full play-by-play?”

           “Yeah, I’ll wait for you by the garbage can.”

           “Right where you belong.” Matsukawa laughed, which was Hanamaki’s favourite sound.

           “Jackass.”

           “You love me, though.”

           “I do. See you later.”

           Hanamaki stared at his phone even after he had hung up. Feeling happy for Matsukawa had never made him want to jump out of his skin before. He wanted to be elated and supportive, but the selfish part of him that had awoken after the kiss had other ideas. The bed creaked when he dropped his face into the pillow, groaning loudly enough to vibrate the springs in his ancient dorm mattress.

  

* * *

 

            It wasn’t long before Matsukawa was completely smitten. He was always distracted with his phone, texting Ichiro, talking to him, or just mooning about the man. Oikawa found this the most entertaining part because Matsukawa very rarely opened his mouth without saying anything sarcastic, and here he was, waxing poetic about a person.

            “Iwa-chan, why can’t you say such nice things about me?”

            “I would if there was something nice about you,” Iwaizumi replied, not missing a beat.

            “Terrible, terrible boyfriend!” Oikawa couldn’t even feign anger, kissing a smiling Iwaizumi on the cheek.

            “Yeah, yeah.”

            “You two are disgusting. Actually, all of you. Who are you and what have you done to my asshole friends?” Hanamaki said, curling his fingers around a warm mug of tea.

            Preening, Oikawa huffed, “I was never an asshole, thank you.”  Iwaizumi, Matsukawa and Hanamaki choked on their drinks. “Rude!”

            “You were just pretty enough to get away with it, Oikawa. Hanamaki doesn’t have that luxury, unfortunately.” Hanamaki turned his head toward Matsukawa slowly, slurping the hot liquid as menacingly as he could. He was about to chew Matsukawa out, he _had_ a great comeback, but the way Matsukawa was smiling at him with gently playful eyes made him feel like the only person in the world. For a second, time slowed to a crawl.

            “Looks like you need to sharpen your wit, Hiro," Matsukawa quipped. "You’ve gotten dull.” That snapped Hanamaki back to reality.

            “Douche. Go home and write some sonnets about your Prince Charming, or something.” Hanamaki shoved Matsukawa with his shoulder, oblivious to Oikawa’s knowing look. Ichiro’s admittedly handsome face popped up on Matsukawa’s phone and he excused himself for a moment, stepping outside the café.  

            Oikawa began accusingly, “Makki.”

            “What am I guilty of now?”

            Even Iwaizumi had raised a curious eyebrow.

            “You’re going to let this happen?” Oikawa asks, gesturing to Matsukawa through the window.

            “Oikawa, what are you talking about?” Hanamaki sighed.

            “This. I mean, I’m sure that this…Ichi-chan, or whatever, is a lovely person, but are you—”

            Hanamaki raised a hand to stop him. “No, he is perfectly happy with his Adonis, alright? We’re just friends and I’m happy for him.”

            “But it’s so obvious that you’re—“

            “Oikawa, it’s only obvious to us.” Shocked, both Oikawa and Hanamaki turned to Iwaizumi, who was sporting whipped cream on his nose. “What? I may be a little rough around the edges, but I’m not _blind_.”

            “Except for when Oikawa is concerned.”

            “This isn’t about me, Hanamaki.” Iwaizumi fixed him with a withering glare.

            “You’re really hard to take seriously with food on your face, Iwa-chan.”

            “Focus on the task at hand. Matsukawa will be back any minute,” Iwaizumi admonished, poking his boyfriend in the side.

            “Nah, he’ll be out there for awhile.” Try as he may, it was hard for Hanamaki to keep the bitterness out of his tone. Oikawa slumped back in his chair, looking defeated and pitying. “Oh my God, stop looking at me like I’m a lost puppy, Oikawa.”

            “I can’t help it! I’m sorry! I thought the two of you were going to finally get together, and then this—” He waved his hands around, “—hooligan came along.”

            “We kissed once,” Hanamaki blurted out.

            “WHAT!” Oikawa slammed his hands down on the table, making all the ceramics clatter. Iwaizumi and Hanamaki jumped in their seats. “AND?”

            “Oikawa, stop yelling!”

            “I just have a lot of feelings about my friends, okay?”

            “We know.”

            “Okay, so you kissed. What led up to it? Why are you not climbing the Matsu tree? _You should be climbing that tree, Makki._ ” Oikawa continued his line of questioning while leaning closer and closer to Hanamaki over the table.

            “We were both really drunk after we went to the bar, and we just kissed. It wasn’t really anything because we were both horny. I don’t know.” Hanamaki shrugged, swirling the dregs of his tea around in the mug.

            “So you kissed, and then what? You’re really bad at stories, Makki. Details, PLEASE.”

            Iwaizumi pulled Oikawa back into his seat by the collar.

            “Jesus, Oikawa, you’re not even a foot from his face.” Oikawa fixed his lip into a pout, but kept Hanamaki in his shrewd gaze.

            “We kissed and then his phone rang, and then I answered it to make things awkward for him, but it turns out it was the hot guy from the bar who happens to be the same man that Matsu is now talking to outside.”

            “Did he say anything?”

            “He asked me if it was okay for him to go on a date with this guy.” Hanamaki hung his head, tracing patterns on the wooden table with his fingertip.

            “He,” Oikawa inhaled deeply to calm himself. “He asked you for permission.”

            “Twice, actually.”

            “TWICE! I need to—you—MAKKI.” Oikawa’s chair scraped noisily against the floor and he walked off to the counter to flirt his way out of paying for a refill.

            “What Oikawa probably means to say is that you fucked up,” said Iwaizumi matter-of-factly, leaning into the table.

            “We’re _friends_.”

            “Every time you look at each other, it feels like Oikawa and I are intruding on something private.”

            “It’s not like that.”

            Iwaizumi shrugged, turning his attention back to his coffee. “ We wouldn’t be saying this if we didn’t think that it would make both of you happy. I mean, I’m an asshole, and Oikawa is generally a terrible person, but we kinda—“ Iwaizumi’s voice dropped to a low murmur, “—care about you.”

            “Awww, Iwa-chan!” Hanamaki imitated Oikawa’s tone, batting his eyelashes with his hands under his chin.

            “Shut up, Hanamaki.”

            “He seems happy with Ichiro, though.”

            “It’s only been what, three weeks? If I haven’t met him, he doesn’t exist.”

            “You really are an angry parent.”

            “I give up. Until we meet that asshole—” Hanamaki presumed Hajime was pointing at Matsukawa’s phone through the window, “—anything is fair game. I’m always going to pick you over whoever that guy is. For one, he calls a lot. Seriously. He’s called six times in the hour we’ve been here.”

            “Young love, Iwaizumi. Everyone else at this table understands technology and this invention called the ‘cellular telephone,’ but you.”

            “I just don’t like talking on the phone.”

            “Yeah, because you can’t hit people over the line.” Luckily, or unluckily, in Hanamaki’s case, Oikawa reentered the scene, carrying an assortment of food.

            “Okay, I am back, and I have treats!  Now that my blood pressure’s returned to normal, please let me know why you are so stupid, Makki.” After happily distributing desserts on the table, Oikawa sidled up to Hanamaki in the booth.

            “Fuck.”

            “Iwa-chan, please eat so that I may interrogate our friend in peace.” Iwaizumi muttered something about terrible personalities, but happily swept whipped cream off the top of his pie with a spoon.

            “He deserves to be happy, and that phone call was obviously a sign.”

            “You know that I am all about cosmic intervention, you know, aliens, but he actually asked you for permission to date someone. Did that not ring any bells?”

            “I don’t know? Why would we both be going to the bar to pick people up if we were interested in each other?” Hanamaki was starting to get worked up, and he was finding it hard to keep his facial expression neutral.

            “For the same reason Iwa-chan and I took this long!”

            “Don’t put me in the same boat as Iwaizumi.”

            “Hey!”

            “Not now, Iwa-chan. Arm wrestle him for dominance later. Okay, so, I am just going to say one more thing before I leave you to your inevitable defeat at the hands of my handsome neanderthal. We’re not saying this just to be meddlesome. Well. A little. Anyway, if you don’t want to try anything, don’t, but it just seems like you were both too oblivious to do anything about it. There, I’m done.” Oikawa gracefully returned to his seat by Iwaizumi and began eating his slice of cake with gusto.

            “How long have you been waiting to jump down my throat with that?” Hanamaki asked, shaking his head.

            “Not just yours. Matsu’s too. Um, probably since first year of high school?”

            “Ah.”

            “Are you ready to get your ass kicked in arm wrestling again, you amateur?” Iwaizumi cut through the awkward tension, slamming his elbow on the table.

            “Bring it on.”

 

            When Matsukawa returned fifteen minutes later, Hanamaki was despondent, his head laying on his arms, one finger scooping cream filling into his mouth. Across from him, Iwaizumi was smirking with a proud Oikawa molesting his bicep.

            “I see you challenged him again, Makki.” Matsukawa chortled.

            “I don’t want to talk about it.”

            Bringing his face in to press their cheeks together, Matsukawa cooed, “Awww, widdle Hiro was defeated by even widdler Iwa-chan.” Hanamaki tried to turn away and look outraged, but he burst out laughing instead. Iwaizumi glared at the two of them.

            “I am not little.”

            “How tall are you compared to the rest of us?” Hanamaki teased.

            “Fuck off.”

            Matsukawa grinned at Hanamaki alone, who couldn’t help but return the gesture. Maybe there was more to their friendship, after all.


	2. for things to go my way

             “I don’t care what you say, Superman is such a lame superhero. He’s so boring. I don’t want to watch a morally upstanding alien save people for two and a half hours, Oikawa.” Hanamaki rolled his eyes at his phone, nestling it in his scarf. To his right, Matsukawa snickered, burrowing further into his jacket.  “No, I am not mean. Iwaizumi, control your child, please.” Even Matsukawa heard the high-pitched indignant squawk, despite Hanamaki having held the phone at arm’s length.

            “Yeah, okay, no, whatever, we’ll go pick up a movie that _doesn’t suck_ on our way over. No aliens.” Hanamaki hung up, and closed his bare hand experimentally. “Shit, it’s cold today.”

            “I told you to wear gloves.”

            “Suck a dick, Matsu.”

            Matsukawa smirked, a mischievous twinkle appearing in his eye when he said, “Gladly.”

           “Speaking of that, how’s your Adonis? I feel like I haven’t gotten my daily obnoxious dose of your lovesickness in awhile.” Hanamaki nudged Matsukawa with his shoulder, seeing if he could prompt a blush.

           “Shut up. He’s great, actually! I was trying to see if I could get him to come to movie night to meet you idiots, but he’s really busy with school today.”

           “He’s in marketing, right?”

           “Yeah.” Matsukawa nodded, watching puffs of breath rise and dissipate before them.

           “I wonder if Oikawa’s had him in any classes.”

           “If he did, he would have immediately gone over to interrogate him, but Ichiro’s a year older.”

           “You think that would stop Oikawa?”

           “Good point.”

           “How would he recognize him, though?”

           “Facebook.”

           “Ah. Pff, I thought I was the only one privy to knowing what your boyfriend looks like.”

          “You’ve fallen in the ranks, Makki.” Matsukawa offered, patting Hanamaki on the head like a child. “Plus, Oikawa sent me literally 65 messages a day demanding pictures. Oh hey, speak of the devil!” Across the road, a tall figure in a black pea coat waved the two of them over. Matsukawa and Hanamaki crossed quickly, huffing in the frigid winter air. Ichiro tossed his long bangs out of his face and leaned down slightly to peck Matsukawa on the lips. Hanamaki chose to look anywhere but at the two of them for a moment.

          “Hey, long time no see.” Hanamaki offered his hand. Ichiro stared at it, calculating, before grasping it and shaking once.

          “You remember Makki, right?” Matsukawa asked, smiling broadly.

          “I do. You’re the one that sends Issei all those messages!” Ichiro said airily, but the tone was subtly accusatory. Matsukawa turned to him, ready to explain himself, but Hanamaki began speaking first.

          “Well, I’m needy, what can I say?” Matsukawa snorted, playfully backhanding Hanamaki’s shoulder with a gloved hand.

          “Honestly.”

          “At least I don’t have orangutan arms, though.”

          “Yeah, but even that’s better than having little T-Rex arms.” Matsukawa mimed small dinosaur arms, looking extra absurd in his puffy winter coat and windblown curls.

          “Ichiro, your boyfriend’s a jackass.”

          Ichiro raised an eyebrow, looking as though he was alarmed by the entire exchange. “No, he isn’t,” he asserted, grasping for Matsukawa’s hand.

          “I mean, I kinda am.” Matsukawa and Hanamaki shrugged in tandem, chuckling.

          “You don’t need to agree.” Ichiro’s tone was cold, his brown eyes even more so.

          “Um, sorry,” Hanamaki offered. “I didn’t actually mean—“

          “I hope not.”

          “Ooookay, anyway, um, we were gonna go get a movie for movie night. We have to pick something or else I’m going to have to deal with Makki complaining about Superman for the rest of my life.”

          “He is _so_ dull, Matsu.”

          “See? Exactly this.” Matsukawa gestured to the bored-looking Hanamaki.

          “Oh, I thought you were coming over for dinner later,” Ichiro said.

          “I thought I mentioned movie night—didn’t I invite you last week?”

          “You can just come by after,” Ichiro insisted.

          “It’ll probably be a late night, but I will.”

          “Okay! See you then.”

           After that, Ichiro’s expression appeared to lighten. Matsukawa wrapped his arms around Ichiro’s waist, pulling in close for a kiss that was uncomfortably long for their single spectator. Hanamaki slipped his phone out of his pocket as casually as he could, swiping through Oikawa’s texts to occupy his jealous mind. Ichiro left shortly after.

           “Am I too rude to you?” Hanamaki paused in the middle of the sidewalk a block later, meeting Matsukawa’s eyes.

           “No, but I’m pretty sure he just doesn’t talk to his friends that way. Stop looking so worried, it looks awful on your face.” Matsukawa tugged him forward by his striped scarf.

           “Better than your eyebrows.”

           “You don’t even _have_ any.”

           “How was I supposed to know that our compound was combustible? It’s not my fault that I singed them off and they hardly grew back.”

           Matsukawa was staggering down the street, doubled over with hysterics.

           “As I recall, it is exactly your fault. You were the one that wondered what would happen if you tilted the Bunsen burner _just so_.” He barely made it through the sentence without snickering.

           “And now I have no eyebrows,” Hanamaki lamented.

           “I can always help you draw some on. Oikawa still has his Hallowe’en makeup.”

           “Oh honey, he just calls it his Hallowe’en makeup. Who buys once-a-year eyeliner online from specialized stores?”

           “That explains so much.”

 

            For the entirety of the movie night, which was blessedly devoid of Superman, Hanamaki watched Matsukawa surreptitiously checking his phone and texting. His eyebrows were drawn and the texts he typed seemed hurried; Matsukawa wasn’t one to normally feel a sense of urgency. Hanamaki tried his best to focus on the movie, but not even Iwaizumi’s attempts to hide his sniffling at the end of District 9 were enough to draw him away.

            “—not crying!” Iwaizumi insisted, roughly swiping his sweatshirt across his eyes. Hanamaki tuned back in to the drama unfolding on the couch behind him, leaving Matsukawa engrossed in his phone.

            “Iwa-chan cried at an alien movie! I can die happy now!”

            “Oh, you’ll die alright.” Iwaizumi lunged at Oikawa, wielding a tasseled cushion. Matsukawa didn’t so much as crack a smile or even notice that there was a world outside of his screen.

            “Hey, Matsu!” Hanamaki clapped him on the shoulder, startling him so much that he dropped his phone.

            “Oh, sorry, I was just—“ He waved the device, frowning when he saw the credits rolling on the TV in front of him. “Shit.”

            “You okay?” Hanamaki kneeled by his side, letting his hand slide down to the small of Matsukawa's back. Matsukawa lifted his head abruptly, nearly head-butting his friend in the process. Hanamaki dodged, and fell back onto his butt with a thump.

            “Sorry! Yeah, I’m just going to have to go. Sorry guys. I’ll see you next movie night?” Matsukawa got to his feet, waved goodbye awkwardly, and left the apartment. Oikawa, Iwaizumi and Hanamaki exchanged a series of puzzled looks.

            “Um?”

            “I’ve never seen Matsu move so quickly before. There must be food waiting for him!” Oikawa teased, eyes betraying his concern. “Hey, Iwa-chan, can you get me some water, please?”

           “Yeah, sure. Want anything, Hanamaki?”

           “I’ll have one too, thanks.” Once Iwaizumi had disappeared into the kitchen, Oikawa crept from the couch to the floor.

           Voice dropping to a whisper, he asked, “What’s wrong with Matsu?” All Hanamaki could do was shrug.

           “I think he said something about going to see Ichiro after this. Maybe they just had a fight? I’ll check on him tonight.”

           “I know you will.” Oikawa regarded him sadly.

           “Still not a kicked puppy, Oikawa.”

           True to form, he huffed, “Make him bring that man to see us! It’s been how long?”

           “Three months, but who’s counting?”

           “You _are_ a kicked puppy.”

  

           The air was even more bitterly cold now that the sun had gone down, and Matsukawa power walked to Ichiro’s apartment with his face buried in the collar of his jacket. His chest felt tight and not just from the exertion of hauling himself across town; he had spent the entirely of movie night having a circular argument with Ichiro over priorities, and missed the entire point of spending a night with his friends. He felt especially heartsick at the thought of having upset Hanamaki enough to make him worry.

           Matsukawa arrived at the small, off-campus apartment nearing midnight, tired and a little wary of what was to come. The last few messages he had received suggested Ichiro wasn’t too pleased with how late he was arriving, but Matsukawa hoped he could smooth things over and have a relatively early night.

           “Hello?” he called, opening the unlocked door. Matsu draped his jacket on the couch by the entrance and made his way into the apartment after hearing a muffled sound of greeting coming from the bedroom. He peeked in first to announce his arrival, and then slunk around the doorjamb.

           “So you finally came!” Ichiro was lankier than Matsukawa, but his limbs were long and powerful, giving him a presence even as he sat cross-legged on his bed with a book. Matsukawa stepped closer, fidgeting with the volume buttons on the phone in his pocket nervously.

           “Yeah, the movie ran really late. I’m sorry.” Matsukawa murmured, eyes tracing the folds of Ichiro’s pajama pants. Ichiro reached out for him, softly running his graceful fingers up his tan forearm.

           “No, I’m sorry for getting so upset. I just really wanted to see you.” Matsukawa smiled and met Ichiro’s eyes, relief loosening the muscles of his shoulders.

           “I wanted to see you too. Just because I’m spending time with them doesn’t mean I’m not thinking of you.” Ichiro smiled warmly in response, pulling Matsukawa into his lap.  Matsukawa pressed closer, wrapping his arms around Ichiro’s long neck, feeling the warmth of his body beneath a thin shirt. Long fingers crept up Matsukawa’s spine, nails dragging down the skin firmly, forcing his back to arch. Quiet gasps tumbled out of both of their mouths, the sounds echoing in the dead silence of the apartment.

           “I bet this is a little more fun than movie night, though.” Matsukawa hummed his assent, grinning against Ichiro’s lips.

  

           The end of January came quickly.

          Matsukawa’s alarm blared for longer than he wanted, but he had a hard time locating it on the nightstand in the darkness of the room. He peeled one of Ichiro’s arms off his waist so he could shuffle over in the bed, and finally silenced the wailing sound. The screen was blindingly bright, reading out 12:00.

          “Why is your alarm going off at midnight, Issei?” Ichiro’s voice was sleep-thick and muffled by his pillow. “That light is so bright! Turn it off,” he whined, batting at Matsukawa’s hands.

          “It’s Makki’s birthday,” Matsukawa yawned. “I wanna to be the first one to wish him a happy birthday.”

          “So you wake me up, too?”

          “—just be a second, I promise.” Ichiro untangled himself from Matsukawa’s limbs and shifted to the other side of the bed.

 

**_Happy birthday, old man!_ **

**_I better be the first person in your inbox._ **

****

_youre lucky im still awake (jk i have an assignment due in 8 hrs)_

_why are you still up_

**_I have to remind my best friend that’s he’s ancient! Your memory’s not what it used to be._ **

**_One year closer to not having to use a fake ID, gramps._ **

**_(Why did you wait so late, you idiot?)_ **

****

_your birthday is in a month jackass_

_and yep_

_one more year_

_(i am motivated by pressure you know that)_

_oikawa just sent me a picture of his face claiming it is the perfect birthday gift_

_what did i ever do to deserve this_

         “Issei, stop texting and go to bed.”

         “Sorry, going.”

 

**_Would you like a chronological list, or?_ **

****

_you suck_

****

**_Anyway, I’m gonna go back to bed – I’m blinding poor Ichiro._ **

**_Night and happy birthday again!_ **

****

_goodnight and thanks_

_you were the first one as always_

_your honour as my best friend remains intact_

         He put the phone back on the nightstand, burying his smile in the crook of Ichiro’s neck.

 

          “What is this I hear about Ichi-chan finally gracing us with his presence?” Oikawa was vibrating with delight in his seat, clapping his hands together like a child at his birthday party.

          Hanamaki turned yet another page of his notes, the seventh in a minute, not even registering a single word. “Yeah, Matsu’s bringing him over right now.”

          “Finally! Right, Iwa-chan?”

          Predictably, Iwaizumi wasn’t too pleased. “Fucking finally.”

          “Iwaizumi, come on, be nice.” Hanamaki scrawled a frowning face on one corner of the Iwaizumi’s notes, pointedly avoiding eye contact.

          “I am being nice.”

          “Makki, Iwa-chan is just angry about his midterms.”

          “Oikawa, he’s always mad. Like Bruce Banner, but less smart.”

          “I’m not _always_ mad, dumbass.” Iwaizumi missed the jab completely.

          “He’s not mad when we—“ The loud jingle of the front door opening attracted their attention before Oikawa had a chance to embarrass his boyfriend in public. Matsukawa stepped into the café first, eyes darting to the group’s usual table by the window. Oikawa waved genially in his direction, paying no heed to his wildly flailing elbow, and said elbow met a certain someone’s cheekbone multiple times in a row. Iwaizumi shoved Oikawa in the face in retaliation, ignoring Hanamaki’s amused wheeze.

          “He’s not that much taller than Matsukawa,” Iwaizumi observed quietly, giving Ichiro the once-over as he approached their table.

          “It’s not like you’re going to fight him, Iwa-chan.”

          “What if I have to?”

          “Jesus, Iwaizumi.” Oikawa and Iwaizumi brought their voices back up to a normal level once Ichiro and Matsukawa arrived at the table. They got to their feet, each extending a hand out towards the newcomer.

          “Ah, Ichiro-chan, I’m Oikawa Tooru! Glad to finally meet Matsu’s Prince Charming!” The tone of Oikawa’s voice was the one he saved for people he was wary of, but wanted to impress anyway. The smile was just shy of genuine, but there were few people that knew the difference; three of them were present at that very table. At least it wasn’t quite at the level of the unimpressed face he reserved for one Ushijima Wakatoshi. Iwaizumi expressed his distaste of the Ichiro by crushing his hand while maintaining steady eye contact. Ichiro understood a challenge when he saw one and responded in kind, his wince at having his knuckles destroyed flitting quickly across his face. Oikawa pinched his boyfriend’s lower back to spare them all a trip to the emergency room.

          “Iwaizumi Hajime. Pleased to meet you.” The words hung heavily in the air as the two men continued to stare each other down. Iwaizumi was obviously not allowing himself to get intimidated.

          “Taylor Ichiro. Likewise.”

          “Iwa-chan, I really want some more coffee. Please get me some?” Oikawa chirped, patting Iwaizumi’s tense shoulder and smiling in a way that would make any dentist proud. Hanamaki and Matsukawa both noted the full cup teetering on Oikawa’s Intro to Marketing textbook. Iwaizumi stalked away.

          “Well, that wasn’t awkward at all!” Matsukawa laughed nervously, nudging Hanamaki to the edge of the bench to make room. Ichiro perched himself on the edge of the seat, looking halfway ready to leave even before any real words were exchanged. Hanamaki put a feather-light hand on Matsukawa's shoulder, giving him a reassuring smile.

          “I’m sorry, Iwa-chan’s just been under a lot of stress lately. He’s been—” Oikawa paused to mull through his vocabulary, “— _prickly_.”

          “It’s fine! Really. My height tends to intimidate people too, so I get it.” Oikawa’s wary smile flashed into something scarier at the comment.

          “Iwaizumi’s used to all of us. Half of our kouhai were taller than he was, so that’s not really it. I think he’s just a little on edge because of classes.” Matsukawa squeezed Ichiro’s knee under the table, earning him a reproving look. Oikawa continued to grin maniacally until Hanamaki nudged him with his foot to make him resemble a human again.

           “Ah. So, I hear that we’re both studying marketing! Tell me, who was your intro professor, and is he as awful as mine? I think I may fall into a coma one of these days and never wake up!” Oikawa’s hand waving was enough to dissipate some of the tension.

           “And wouldn’t that just be a tragedy!” Matsukawa said, lips curling into a smirk.

           “So sad. We’d be devastated,” Hanamaki continued.

           “We’d bring you beautiful flowers every day.”

           “Comb your hair lovingly in case the fangirls came.”

           “Slap you to make sure you were really in a coma and not pretending for attention.”

           “Iwaizumi may be a bit upset, eh Matsu?”

           “What would I be upset about?” With perfect timing, Iwaizumi reappeared.

           “Oh, if puffy-cheeks Oikawa here fell into a boredom-induced coma,” Matsukawa answered while Iwaizumi placed a whipped cream monstrosity in front of his pouting boyfriend.

           “Oh God, that would be amazing. Imagine the blissful silence.” Iwaizumi snorted, sliding into his seat.

           “Iwa-chan!” Oikawa smacked Iwaizumi, ignoring the laughter. Matsukawa and Hanamaki bumped fists surreptitiously, earning a raised eyebrow from a stoic Ichiro.

           “Sorry, Ichiro. In a little while, you’ll realize that Oikawa is actually the easiest person in the world to make fun of and Iwaizumi is a part-time saint,” Hanamaki clarified, smiling lopsidedly over Matsukawa’s shoulder at Ichiro, whose face had settled into a scowl.

           “What does that make you, Makki?” Matsukawa rested his chin on the back of his hand, issuing a friendly challenge. Hanamaki caught the playful glint in his eye and knew that it was time for some verbal sparring; both parties were now sporting predatory grins. Oikawa and Iwaizumi mouthed ‘just wait’ to Ichiro.

           “Clearly, I am the charming neutral third party of the group,” Hanamaki said airily.

           “Approximately all of that sentence is a lie.”

           “You are so very wrong.”

           “Wait, sorry, no. I think the only truth in it was the fact that you are. You exist. You may also be human on a good day.”

           “I don’t need to be human. I’m so amazing that I’m _out of this world_.”

           “Is that a reference to your weirdly-shaped head?” Matsukawa asked, pressing his lips together to suppress a snort.

           “Fuck you, eyebrows. If I’m an alien, then what does that make you?”

           “It—“

           “Chewbacca, that’s what. Hairy bastard.”

           “Then we’re technically both aliens.” A shared look at Oikawa.

           “That must be why you’re so good at volleyball! I had my suspicions ever since we met all those years ago! I knew keeping you around was a good decision. It still doesn’t explain why my charming self slums it with Iwa-chan, though~”

           “His arms,” Matsukawa and Hanamaki said in unison. Not-so-secretly pleased, Iwaizumi rucked up the sleeves of his brown hoodie as though proving a point.

           “So, Ichiro-chan, did you play any sports in high school?” Putting on his best welcoming smile, Oikawa leaned across the table.

           “I swam, so I never really had that kind of a team mentality. I preferred not having to rely on others for success.”

           “Ah, well, I can understand that, but sometimes your teammates can be amazing.” Oikawa sat up proudly.

           “And other times, they do weird dances instead of motivational speeches,” Matsukawa began, eyeing Oikawa.

           “Or yell out food orders before a serve.” Iwaizumi gave Matsukawa a look, sharp eyes glinting with mirth.

           “They sometimes need to be restrained by their kouhai,” Hanamaki fired at Iwaizumi.

           “Others are sassy shitheads all day long.” Matsukawa elbowed Hanamaki.

           “Excuse you. I make sass into an art.”

           “Is this what it’s like all the time?” Ichiro wondered out loud, head tilting. Iwaizumi nodded gravely. Next to him, Oikawa continued to preen like a proud mama bird, stilling the bobble-head nodding of the snarky duo across the table from him with a palm on each face.

           “Stop, Oikawa, you’ll smudge Matsu’s makeup. We don’t want to scare Ichiro off, now.” Hanamaki smacked the hand away from Matsukawa’s face.

           “Oh, I’ve seen him first thing in the morning many times.” Hanamaki felt his skin crawl at the tone Ichiro used, but conceded the fact that his statement was the truth. It was he who got to wake up next to Matsukawa, nobody else. Hanamaki’s stomach turned.

           “You poor soul.” Takahiro shook his head, hoping nobody caught the momentary burn of jealousy in his eyes.

           “The view’s pretty nice, actually.”

           “You must take your contacts out to sleep, then.” Four sets of eyes fell on Iwaizumi, the man who was casually sipping his third coffee of the afternoon like he hadn’t just entered the insult Olympics in a huge way.

           “I am actually speechless.” Matsukawa admitted defeat, chuckling despite technically being the butt of the joke. Ichiro did not look pleased.

           “Iwaizumi, I’m impressed. Gold star for participation today.” Hanamaki uncapped a yellow marker and doodled a sloppy star on a blank cue card. “Your mother will be so proud.”

           “Iwa-chan, you finally grew a brain!” Oikawa yelped, dodging the notebook heading for the side of his face.

 

           They hadn’t stayed much longer, though the group of friends had begun to make more of an effort to include Ichiro in conversation. Matsukawa hoped that Hanamaki hadn’t seen the ‘can we go now?’ texts his boyfriend was sending him for the entire time they had been sitting; he didn’t want the most important person in his life to think poorly of the man he’d chosen to date. Right as the pair left, Oikawa had asked if he could speak with Ichiro for a second, waving Matsukawa away with a smile. The other three couldn’t hear the words exchanged, but Oikawa appeared to be genuinely conversing with Ichiro, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder and attempting his most charming smile.  After finishing his almost-monologue, Oikawa let Ichiro and Matsukawa depart.

  

           “What did Oikawa talk to you about?” Matsukawa asked when they were on their way back to Ichiro’s apartment, fingers laced together comfortably.

           “He apologized for being overwhelming and asked if we’d like to go have dinner with him and Iwaizumi next week.”

           “Oh! What did you say?”

           “I told him we’d think about it.”

           “That’s Oikawa extending the olive branch. I think that could be fun!” Matsukawa cracked his first real smile since they left. He hadn’t expected Ichiro’s first meeting with Oikawa and Iwaizumi to be quite so tense.

           “I don’t like his boyfriend at all.”

           “Iwaizumi is harmless, I promise. He was a little off today, but he’s normally really relaxed.”

           “He made fun of both of us.”

           “First of all, that was hilarious.”

           “He mocked you, Issei. They all did!” Ichiro eyes were cold, angry.

           “Ichiro, that’s how we speak to one another. It would be weird if nobody insulted me while we were hanging out. It’s not like I didn’t make fun of them, either.”

           “I don’t want them treating you like that.”

           “It’s fine, _really_. I’m okay with it.”

           “ _I’m_ not, and that’s it.” Ichiro left no room for discussion, as always, so Matsukawa shut his mouth and kept walking. He wasn’t in the mood for a fight.

            

           Matsukawa’s phone vibrated on his desk, migrating noisily towards his laptop. Knowing exactly who it was put a smile on his face even before he answered it. It was exactly midnight.

           “Hey asshole, are you busy?”

           “I’m just finishing a paper, but it’s not due for a few days. What’s up?” The knock on his dorm door startled him.

           “Would you mind letting your illustrious bestie in?” Matsukawa opened the door only to find a plaid pyjama-clad Hanamaki standing there holding up a peace sign and a poorly-wrapped gift. “Happy birthday, you weirdo.”

           “We said no presents!” Matsukawa chided, pulling Hanamaki into a bear hug. They held onto each other for a minute, breathing softly, missing the feel of the familiar warmth.

           “You bought me dinner and a really nice shirt, Matsu. Don’t pull this ‘no present’ bullshit on me.”

           “Whatever, jackass. Can I open it now?” Matsukawa pulled away, grabbing the deceptively heavy present from Hanamaki’s hand.

           “Don’t you dare judge my wrapping.”

           “I am. It’s atrocious. If possible, you’ve actually gotten worse at it over the past few years.” Hanamaki tackled him onto the bed, cold fingers heading straight for Matsukawa’s side. “Nonononono, it’s my birthday, noooo, no, no tickling! Hiro, stop!”

           “That’s what you get for looking the gift horse in the mouth!” Hanamaki joined in with peals of laughter of his own when Matsukawa got a hand free and grabbed the back of one knee. They had reached a stalemate, each clutching at the other’s weak spot, panting and riding out the adrenaline spike.

           “Okay, truce?” Matsukawa offered, wary of Hanamaki's next move.

           “Truce.”

           “I really wanna open this present, anyway.”

            “It’s not that big a deal, really. This is the first part. I’ll take you out for lunch when you’re free next as part two.” Hanamaki looked away, scratching the back of his head nervously.

           “You know you give the best presents, right? Why’re you all worried, you goof?”

           “Just open it, Jesus.” Matsukawa grinned deviously, carefully peeling off each layer of tape, one by one, just to drive Hanamaki insane. “Come _on_.”

           “Nope, I’m savouring this disaster of a wrapping job.”

           “Don’t make me regret coming over here.” Takahiro crossed his arms over his chest, half of his mouth turned down, the other half fighting the twitch upwards. Meanwhile, Matsukawa continued his torturously slow unwrapping process. “Issei, just let me do it!”

            “Nope!” Matsukawa turned his back towards Hanamaki so he couldn’t get to the present. Hanamaki draped himself over Matsukawa’s back, arms reaching to tear off the wrapping paper, but falling short in length. He noted how comically short the sleeves of Matsukawa’s hoodie were, amused, but then came to a realization.

            “Wait, is this my Seijou hoodie?”

            “Yep.”

            “Why do you still have it? I’ve been looking for it everywhere!”

            “It’s for when every part of me but my forearms is cold.”

            “You—fuck—just open the damn present before I kill you," Hanamaki threatened.

            Grinning ear-to-ear, Matsukawa tore open the rest of the paper, unable to drag it out any longer. His smile faded, replaced with a look of awe.

            “This is—” He smoothed a hand over the brown leather-bound notebook, fanning through the faux aged pages. Matsukawa made eye contact with Hanamaki, who was biting his lip nervously. “What the hell, why are you so anxious? This is amazing! Holy shit.”

            “You keep saying you’re going to write a book, so I got you one with as many pages as I could find.” Hanamaki looked down at his hands awkwardly. Matsukawa was still leafing through the pages, stopping when he recognized Hanamaki’s tidy writing. “No, don’t read that while I’m here, please!”

            For all his attempts to be blasé about everything, Hanamaki was incredibly sentimental, especially where his best friend was concerned. He would always insist that Matsukawa read his cards after he left, but naturally, this request would be ignored. Matsukawa secretly loved seeing Hanamaki all red-cheeked and flustered because it made a certain warmth bloom in his chest.

 

_Issei,_

_You are my favourite asshole in the world, and I bought you this notebook because I really, really, really want you to succeed as a writer. Of course, you still need to put words in it, but I have faith you’ll kick ass at that. My only condition is that you give me full credit for being your inspiration (I’m willing to go down to 90%, but nothing less) when you sell a billion copies of your future novel. Of which I hope to have an autographed copy that I will proudly display in my luxurious future home. Have a great 19 th year. _

_Takahiro_

            “You’re such a sap.” Matsukawa threw his arms around Hanamaki’s shoulders excitedly, squishing their cheeks together in a way that wasn’t exactly comfortable. Hanamaki mmrph-ed in a feeble protest. Matsukawa’s heartbeat thrummed erratically in his chest, suddenly aware of Hanamaki’s cologne, which was at odds with his choice of clothing.

            “Shut up.”

            “Thank you.”

            “Okay, okay. Now, I distinctly remember there being a handle of some disgusting liquor under your bed, and neither of us has class until the late morning.”

            “Don’t you have to be at your lab at eight?” Matsukawa asked while rummaging through the drawer beneath his mattress. A bottle knocked against his knuckles, the neck wrapped up in an assortment of undergarments. He pulled it out and brandished the mostly full bottle of vodka—which was sporting a pair of briefs—beaming.

            “Nah, I told them I had a test to study for.”

            “Oh, you do?”

            “No, you turd. My great plan was to get you drunk on your birthday.”

            “You’re awful.”

            “Yeah, and you buy vodka _on purpose_ ,” Hanamaki murmured against the mouth of the bottle, eyebrows furrowing in response to the burning of the cheap liquor. Matsukawa’s eyes lingered on the way Hanamaki’s lips wrapped around the bottle, swallowing thickly to clear his dry throat. His phone buzzed, a picture of his former captain’s butt in short shorts heralding an incoming call. Both Hanamaki and Matsukawa sighed dramatically.

            “Hey, Oikawa—thank you!—yes, I’ll tell him hi—how did you know he was here?—no, of course we’re being responsible and not drinking on a Tuesday night. Can you tell Iwaizumi to stop laughing? That’s rude. Mmmkay, go make out with precious Iwa-chan now, I have some liquor to finish. Byeeee~” Matsukawa threw the phone over his shoulder onto his bed and snagged the vodka from Hanamaki’s hand. “Now, where were we?”

            “About to make some poor decisions, I think. Drink up, birthday boy.”

 

            The first hints of glowing pinks and oranges began to peek in through Matsukawa’s single dingy dorm window and an empty vodka bottle lay forgotten between two pairs of socked feet. Hanamaki was nuzzled up against Matsukawa’s shoulder, eyes drooping, fingers wiggling lazily in front of his face. Matsukawa smacked his hand away.

             “Go to bed.”

             “No.”

             “Are you still drunk, Makki?”

             “I miss you,” Hanamaki drawled, “I see you, like, once a week now, if I’m lucky. And you keep missing movie nights and Oikawa and Iwaizumi make out _so much_. ”

             “I’m sorry.” Matsukawa turned his head to peer down, shocked when he met a pair of eyes instead of pink hued hair.

             “No, I’m sorry, tha’s mean. You’re happy with—with—“

            “Ichiro?”

            “Yes, him. Who is all tall—” Hanamaki stretched, “—and handsome.”

            “Mhm.”

            “Are you happy?”

            “Yes?”

            “This isn’t a drunk-Makki question. I’m serious. Are you happy?” Hanamaki sat up, looking infinitely more sober than he had seconds earlier. Matsukawa was taken aback by the serious tone, shrinking back under the intensity of his Hanamaki’s gaze.

            A pause. “Yes.”

            “Okay, good.” Hanamaki was asleep in Matsukawa’s lap moments later, his snoring on the charming side of loud. The still functioning member of the duo looked down at him, itching to run his hands through his close-cropped hair. He has a nice nose, Matsukawa’s hazy mind supplied unnecessarily. No more eloquent adjectives came to mind, but his brain was fine with ‘nice.’ He began to chase that rabbit, observing that a lot of Hanamaki’s face was, in fact, fairly nice. Especially when he was relaxed and drooling ever so slightly on Matsukawa’s thigh. Feeling an overwhelming fondness for the him, Matsukawa tenderly ran a hand from the plane of his shoulder blade down the ridges of his ribcage, finally hovering tentatively on his waist. Hanamaki murmured in his sleep, curling further into himself. Fitting his hand on the tilt of Hanamaki’s hip, Matsukawa allowed his head to loll forward and he was out cold in the space of a heartbeat. The phone on the bed behind him finished its vibrations, twelve missed calls from a certain someone awaiting his attention.

 

             Hanamaki answered his phone without bothering to check the screen, though it’s not like he was really what one would call functioning at that moment.

             “Makki, you look awful!” Oikawa really had a way with words.

             “Thanks, Oikawa,” Hanamaki deadpanned. “Wait, how do you know what I look like?”

             “I can see you from across the courtyard!”

             “So you call me?”

             “We need to finalize plans for Matsu’s birthday party this weekend! So, I was thinking-“

             “Can you not just wait for me to walk the two hundred metres to you?”

“That’s wasting time~” Hanamaki watched a pair of girls walk into a lamppost while staring at Oikawa in tight jeans and a white button up. He hung up, laughing, and hauled his own too-large pants back up to his hips. Oikawa poked Hanamaki’s cheek with one hand when they met up, waving his charm-spangled phone with the other. “You look even worse up close!”

             “I went to bed about three hours ago. I’m not really going for the GQ look today.”

             “Are you wearing Matsu’s pants?” Nothing good ever came of that particular mischievous glint in Oikawa’s eyes.

             “Yes.”

             “Is that Matsu’s shirt?”

             “Yes.”

             “Why are you-“

             “I fell asleep in his dorm and woke up five minutes before class, realizing I was still in pyjamas.”

             “Why did you even go to his dorm in your pyjamas?”

             “It made sense at midnight.”

             “And you wore cologne?”

             “Easy there, Spanish inquisition. I almost always wear it.”

             “With pyjamas?” Hanamaki fell silent. Oikawa hummed knowingly, whispering something that sounded suspiciously like ‘kicked puppy.’

  

              Their first year ended shortly after Matsukawa’s birthday, and with it came moving day in the dorms. Hanamaki and Matsukawa had rented an apartment together, and spent the entire day with Oikawa, Iwaizumi and Ichiro, hauling boxes and furniture. Oikawa was banned from carrying anything heavy to spare his already overworked knee, so he just flitted around the apartment and stairwell, delegating and flirting with Matsukawa and Hanamaki’s new neighbours. Iwaizumi and Ichiro helped with the majority of the lifting, both men sullen and hardly exchanging words. Matsukawa and Hanamaki took full advantage of the chaos, jostling each other and competing to see who could carry more at any given time. Ichiro made no effort to even hide his displeasure at having to spend an entire day with Matsukawa’s friends, but not even his negative attitude could bring the group’s spirits down.  

               Oikawa and Iwaizumi went home after they had all eaten a gourmet meal of instant ramen together, leaving Ichiro and Matsukawa curled up on the powder blue couch, and Hanamaki half-engulfed in a beanbag chair. The sun had long since gone down, and the only light in the apartment was the flickering of reality shows on the television. Hanamaki was trying his best to ignore the soft, enamored murmuring and gentle kisses from the couch next to him, opting instead to text Iwaizumi a play-by-play of the Bachelor. His head popped up when he heard the low rumble of Ichiro’s voice asking Matsukawa if he was ready to go.

               “But it’s our first night in the apartment,” Hanamaki heard his friend whisper.

               “Yeah, but we don’t fit in _your_ bed,” Ichiro purred much too loudly for it to have been accidental. Matsukawa righted himself on the couch, attempting to make eye contact with his new roommate.

               “Don’t worry about it, Matsu. I’m probably just going to finish watching the Bachelor and fall asleep in this deceptively uncomfortable chair. Or is it deceptively comfortable? I don’t know. It’s deceptive in one way or another.”

                Matsukawa looked apologetic, though there seemed to be something else in his eyes. Hanamaki made a lewd gesture with his mouth, and winked theatrically to ward off potential feelings.

                “You’re a sack of dicks. And remember the deal with the beanbag chair. I _told_ you it was the worst idea. No complaining or it goes.” Matsukawa stretched over the arm of the couch and made to smack Hanamaki upside the head. Hanamaki dodged, rolling out of his chair and landing on the hardwood with a thunk.

                “You know what? Just to spite you, I’m going to sleep in it and wake up tomorrow feeling better than you could have ever dreamed. Smug jackass.” By the time Matsukawa had helped a smiling Hanamaki to his feet, Ichiro was already wearing his jacket and standing by the door. “You two have fun. Thanks for helping, Ichiro.”

                “Sure. I’ll take care of him tonight.”

                “Byeeee, roomie~” Matsukawa put on his best Oikawa impression, blowing Hanamaki a kiss.

                “I swear, if you develop a weird obsession with outer space, I am trading you for Iwaizumi.”

                “Mm. From one dark-haired stud to another. I see you have a type.”

                “Ichiro, just take him away.” Hanamaki threw a pillow at Matsukawa, who was laughing on his way out the door.

                “I’ll be back for breakfast tomorrow!” With one last wave, the couple left, and Hanamaki returned to the chair that only he could love. His phone rang.

                “Please don’t tell me he gave that awful blonde a rose.” The voice was a low whisper.

                “Iwaizumi, you need to start watching this on your own instead of getting me to tell you all about it.”

                “How about you tell me how Oikawa would react to that.”

                 “Fuck, that would be _amazing._ Iwa-chaaaaan~ how romantic~ I knew that you were a softie deep down~ kyaaaa~”

                 “I will break your right wrist if you say anything.”

                 “Why only that one?”

                 “Because I know you can’t jack off with your left.”

                 “I could learn.”

                 “Doesn’t matter now. Tell me what happened to the squeaky-voiced one before Oikawa gets back from the bathroom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you live to see another chapter without ABJECT SORROW. Just you wait... //cackling
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it and as always, come be [friends](gnetophyta.tumblr.com)!


	3. it always ends up the same

             Hanamaki deeply regretted not turning off the ringer on his phone before we went to sleep, trudging over to the beeping device in the dark of the apartment. Unsurprisingly, it was a text from Matsukawa.

****

**_Makki._ **

_who else would it be if youre texting my number_

**_Shut up. Guess what?_ **

_how am i supposed to answer if you want me to shut up_

**_May you never beat Iwaizumi in arm wrestling._ **

_thems fighting words matsu_

_but sorry_

_whats up_

**_I’ll let you guess._ **

_you better not be texting me about your carnivorous midnight snacks_

_late night meat_

**_In a manner of speaking, that is related to what I’m texting you about…and I can hear you wiggling your eyebrows._ **

_awwwwwyeah_

_you finally boned huh_

**_Yeah, we did!_ **

_is that all i get_

_after all these years of friendship_

_i dont even get gory details_

_matsuuuuu_

_great_

_now im the only virgin in this group_

_are you kidding me_

_goddamnit im trying to live vicariously through you_

__

_ok fine_

_be that way_

           Hanamaki rolled over in bed, fingers curled around his phone. Matsukawa must have dozed off while texting again, he thought, sticking his pillow over his head to block out the glowing streetlights.

           The next morning, there were no new texts on his phone from his roomie, just the usual Oikawa selfies in their Seijou group chat. Odd. Matsukawa really wasn’t one to ignore texts. Attempting to shrug it off, Hanamaki went to class and did his best to focus on his coursework. Despite his efforts, worry gnawed away at him steadily during his waking hours.

           Hanamaki came back to the apartment after a full day of note-taking and lab work to find Matsukawa asleep, facedown in his fully made bed. Matsukawa’s school bag had obviously just been tossed unceremoniously to the side in his haste to take a nap, which made Hanamaki laugh. He took a huge swing and slapped Matsukawa’s ass in the loudest way possible. If there was a quicker to wake Matsukawa up, it had not been discovered yet. The noise that left Matsukawa’s mouth was not quite a hiss, but nor did it qualify as a yelp. What it was, was anguished.

           “Why would you _do_ that, holy _fuck_ , OW!” Reflexively, he covered his butt with his hands, rolling over to stare down Hanamaki, who was smirking in a very satisfied way. “What the fuck, Makki?”

           “Just seeing how sore you were.” He sat down on the bed next to the quietly moaning Matsukawa and rubbed his shoulder.

           “Very. So very sore. You should have seen me trying to sit in my first class this morning.”

           “I really wish I had been there to document this for Oikawa’s sake.”

           “This one guy I talk to was like, ‘oh did you go too hard on leg day?’”

           Hanamaki burst out laughing. “Oh, you went _hard_ alright.”

           “Stop wiggling your anemic eyebrows at me.”

           “I will do what I please, Matsukawa. Was it good, though?”

           “Kinda? I mean, it was weird at first. I almost shat a brick when I thought about the logistics because oh my God, he is not _small_.” Matsukawa looked up at Hanamaki pointedly. Hanamaki was leaning back on his hands on the bed, watching him with a small smile on his face. “What is that look?”

           “Oh, nothing. I’m sure if you two had switched, Ichiro would have been less uncomfortable.” Hanamaki bit his lip to suppress a chuckle.

           “Fuck off. It’s not like you know how big my dick is anyway.” Matsukawa punched him in the shoulder, but it was weak without his weight behind it.

           “Don’t I, though?” The brief moment of eye contact they made when they remembered that night was too intense, and too much, so both looked away, ignoring the furious heat in their cheeks.

           “Right. Anyway. He was really gentle about it, so it didn’t hurt as much as I had expected it to. Still, it was weird. A good kind of weird, though.”

           “Your eloquence is unmatched. Hey, you want dinner? I’m starving.”

           “Yes, please.”

           “You can keep talking. I’m just gonna go get some food started, ‘kay?” Hanamaki stood, pausing when Matsukawa stuck his hand out.

           “Help me up, please,” he whined.

           “You realize I’m going to take full advantage of your soreness, right?”

           “I know. You’re the worst friend ever. Oh, by the way, I’m really sorry for not texting back. I dropped my phone somewhere by the bed and then I couldn’t find it this morning before I left.”

           “It’s no big deal. I figured as much.” _I was really worried, but it’s not like I’ll admit to it._

 

* * *

 

            Matsukawa opened one bleary eye to identify the source of obnoxious light.

  

             Matsuuuuuu~

             A little ~birdie~ told me that you have joined a certain exclusive club (*•̀ᴗ•́*)و ̑̑

**_It’s one in the morning, Oikawa._ **

**_Is this birdie’s name Hanamaki, by any chance?_ **

             I never reveal my sources~

             (´ゝз・)─☆

             Telllll meeeeeeee~~~~~~

**_Can I tell you tomorrow?_ **

             Matsuuuu, I’m impatient!!!

**_Tomorrow._ **

             Fine. Rude!!

**_Go to sleep, you big baby, or Iwaizumi is gonna get mad._ **

             !!!!!

 

             Matsukawa stifled a laugh, making sure his alarm was on after exiting the message window. Ichiro stirred next to him, reaching blindly for the source of light, grabbing the device, and plunking it on the night table.

             “Who’s texting you this late?” he mumbled into Matsukawa’s shoulder.

             “Ah, it’s Oikawa.”

             “Hm.”

 

* * *

 

              More often that not over the next several months, Hanamaki spent his evenings alone in the apartment. The first couple of weeks, he had managed to change his schedule in the lab so that he could go home earlier and have dinner with Matsukawa, but his excitement waned considerably when repeatedly faced with an empty home. He began spending time with the people from his lab when he wasn’t studying, and very nearly managed to distract himself from the realization that he was completely and utterly smitten with his best friend. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, he had heard, but he hadn’t believed before.

              It’s not that Matsukawa never came home, no. Hanamaki would find food in the fridge and the bathroom would be meticulously clean right when he would be thinking about needing to do housework, but he would gladly trade a clean toilet for Matsukawa. Hanamaki had certainly entertained more romantic thoughts, but he had really run out of material to fuel his elaborate mental scenarios.

              One particularly lonely night, when the bottles of alarmingly cheap beer were piling up on the side table in the living room, Hanamaki was sitting in his beanbag chair, contemplating whether texting Matsukawa would constitute being needy. It was a strange moment in their friendship because he couldn’t recall a time when he had ever thought twice about sending his Matsukawa thirty consecutive photos of Nicholas Cage photoshopped into tutus, let alone a single ‘how’ve you been?’ text. Takahiro swirled the dregs of the beer in his bottle, alternating staring at the poor excuse for alcohol and the phone clutched in his left hand. Groaning, he dumped the phone onto the floor beside him and clambered to his feet awkwardly. Given his new distaste of lighting, making his way to the kitchen was a bit of an ordeal. Hanamaki was popping the top off the last bottle in his fridge when he heard a knock on his door. The blood in his veins turned to ice from the shock. He grabbed the countertop to steel himself and calm his frantically beating heart; it was probably just Matsukawa. Nobody but Matsukawa, and wasn’t that the problem? Battling with the alcohol-fueled paranoia, he opened the door. Expecting the taller Matsukawa, Hanamaki stared at the top of Iwaizumi’s head, puzzled.

              “Funny, Hanamaki,” Iwaizumi deadpanned, looking decidedly worse for wear and clutching a duffel bag.

              “What’re you doing here? The Bachelor isn’t even on tonight,” Hanamaki started, still standing in the doorway. “Oh yeah, come in, sorry.” Remembering his manners, he stepped aside, gesturing for Iwaizumi to enter.

              “Can I, um, stay for a few days?” A charged silence fell, broken only by the miserable whine of the ancient fridge in the kitchen.

              “Uh, yeah, of course. I think we’ve got a spare futon around here somewhere. I would offer you a beer, but this is the last one.” Iwaizumi glanced pointedly at the bottle graveyard by the beanbag chair.

              “I see that.”

              “You better not be judging.”

              “I am.” Iwaizumi dropped his duffel by the side of the couch and flopped down into the couch with a drawn-out sigh. The well-worn piece of furniture seemed to echo his misery. Hanamaki joined him, shoving Iwaizumi’s legs out of the way with his feet.

              “Move. We’re sharing.”

              “Give me a sip of that garbage, then.”

              “You have the audacity to come to _my_ home, sit on _my_ couch and talk shit about _my_ choice in —”

              “Just give it here.”

              Hanamaki extended his arm out, offering the still-full beer to a progressively more mopey Iwaizumi. “Wanna talk about it?”

              “No.”

              “But you’re going to anyway because you need to vent?”

              “Yep.”

              “Tell me of your woes, Iwaizumi Hajime.” Hanamaki perched himself on the armrest of the couch and faced his friend, fingers clasped in front of him.

              “Where do I start?” Iwaizumi ran his hands through his hair and then down his face, warping his features with the pressure of his palms.

              “Don’t start at the beginning or I may leave halfway to take a nap or make an omelette, but the last fifteen percent of the story would be perfect. All the action, none of the boring character development.”

              “Why am I friends with you?”

              “I just gave you my last beer and you’re dating someone exponentially worse than I am.”

              “Hm. If we’re even still dating.” On the coffee table, Hanamaki’s phone buzzed, displaying Oikawa’s face. He flicked his eyes from Iwaizumi to the phone and back. “Don’t answer it.”

              “Does he know where you are?”

              “If he’s calling you, he does.”

              “Do you just want to go to bed? Wear cute lingerie and have a pillow fight, then cuddle until morning?” Despite himself, Iwaizumi barked out a laugh, shoving Hanamaki playfully. “Hey, I was serious! I have the cutest little garter set saved just for you!”

              “Thanks.”

              “No problem at all. It was on sale.” Iwaizumi pushed at his shoulder, nearly knocking him off the armrest. Hanamaki latched onto his bicep, falling forward to overcompensate, and ended up slipping to the floor, flailing. They began laughing at the absurdity of their fight, but sobered up quickly when Iwaizumi’s phone rang.

              “He’s probably worried,” Hanamaki said quietly.

              “Let him worry.”

              “You don’t mean that.”

              “No.” Iwaizumi buried his face in his hands. “I really don’t.”

              “Then answer it.”

              “I’m still pissed off at him, but I will after.”

              “Well, until then, I am going to text him that you are alive, and we are going to stimulate ourselves intellectually with some reality shows.”

              “Okay.” Hanamaki caught the slight upturn in Iwaizumi’s mouth in the dim light, and flicked through channels feeling somewhat accomplished. The least he could do was distract him a little bit, and if he was to be honest with himself, he needed the distraction too. “Where’s Matsu?”

              “Having lots of filthy sex, I’m presuming.”

              “When was the last time you saw him?”

              “HEY LOOK, THE TELEVISION IS ON.”

              Iwaizumi snorted.

 

* * *

  

               A hair past one in the morning, a disheveled and sniffling Oikawa arrived on Hanamaki’s doorstep, so he let the lovebirds work out their problems while he went to bed.

               At three in the morning, Hanamaki woke up to beat both Oikawa and Iwaizumi over the head with multiple pillows.

               “Don’t have sex on my couch, because if you do, I’ll be the only person left out from that club. Have mercy on my poor virgin soul, please. And control your fucking hormones, Christ.”

               “Sorry, Makki! Iwa-chan is just so-” The rest of the sentence was muffled by Iwaizumi’s hand.

               “I am going back to bed. You two can sleep on the spare futon or in Matsukawa’s bed. It’s not like it gets used anyway.”

               “Want to join us, Makki?” Hanamaki flipped the bird over his shoulder and disappeared into his room, followed by Oikawa's giggling.

               The next morning, Hanamaki decided to skip his first class in favour of having breakfast with the two lovestruck idiots. He made hideously misshapen pancakes as a ‘treat,’ which turned out to be a great idea. The three scarfed down the food and were curled up on the couch watching T.V. when the front door opened. Three heads peered out from under a giant fleece blanket that was completely inappropriate for summer, and blinked at Matsukawa.

              “Oh hey, you found the apartment!” Matsukawa looked shocked to see people in the apartment, and Hanamaki just couldn’t fight the urge to sass. Matsukawa scratched the back of his neck, eyes flitting away from his Hanamaki's, looking guilty. Hanamaki felt Oikawa’s foot pushing him forward using the small of his back, followed by Iwaizumi’s insistent nudging. They parted the blanket to let him squirm out, clearing their throats.

              “You two suck,” Hanamaki muttered darkly.

              “Me? Makki, you wound your captain!” Oikawa placed a hand over his heart, looking up at Hanamaki from beneath long lashes.

              “I can’t tell if he’s trying to seduce me or guilt me,” Hanamaki told Matsukawa in his most serious tone, gesturing to Oikawa. Matsukawa’s shoulders seemed to relax somewhat, releasing a tension he didn’t know he was carrying.

              “Probably both. Iwaizumi, you can tell the difference, right?” Matsukawa’s dark curls bounced when he nodded in Oikawa’s direction. Iwaizumi scoffed.

              “I just assume he’s always trying to seduce me.”

              “Iwa-chan!”

              “What?”

              “Never mind, you handsome brick~”

              “Brick?!” Iwaizumi and Oikawa began squabbling on the couch, so Hanamaki turned his attention to Matsukawa. Now that he finally had the opportunity to lay eyes on his elusive roommate, Hanamaki noticed the dark circles under his eyes and the way his whole countenance seemed to be dragging. For someone who was notorious for being relaxed and unfazed by life’s many twists and turns, Matsukawa looked uncharacteristically bedraggled. It made Hanamaki’s stomach lurch unpleasantly.

              “You look like shit, Matsu.” Matsukawa’s laugh was hollow, but at least his eyes had crinkled happily at the corners.

              “Yeah, I haven’t slept much in the past few days.”

              “Been busy?” Hanamaki waggled his eyebrows suggestively in hopes of distracting Matsukawa, but it wasn’t doing much to help. The background din of Oikawa giggling at Iwaizumi’s aggressive romancing faded as Matsukawa and Hanamaki walked down the hall and into Hanamaki’s bedroom. Matsukawa sat down on the bed, back against the headboard, arms on his knees.

              “Can I ask you something?” he began, running a trembling hand through his hair.

              “Wasn’t that already a question?”

              “Shut up. You know what I mean.”

              “Yeah, go for it.” Hanamaki flopped down next to Matsukawa, purposely letting their shoulders bump. “I hope it’s not romantic advice because we know my track record with relationships.”

              “I wasn’t aware that you even had a record.”

              “Ouch. Low blow, Matsu.”

              Matsukawa shrugged, the tiniest of smiles creeping up his face. “Where is the lie, though?”

              “Fine, let’s just rub salt in the wound. Let’s do that.” Being around Matsukawa made Hanamaki giddy in a way he hadn’t thought about before, especially when Matsukawa caught his eye with a soft look. Hanamaki pivoted to maintain eye contact, grin sliding off his face.

              “I’m sorry I haven’t been around, Makki.”

              “It’s fine.” It wasn’t fine because Hanamaki  _missed_ him, but it wasn’t fair to ask someone to choose their best friend over someone they may spend the rest of their life with. Hanamaki knew better than to be a petty child about the whole scenario, and would try his best to get over it. He would be a good friend for Matsukawa.

              “No, it’s not. I haven’t been replying to your texts at all, and I’m never home and I’m sorry.” Matsukawa buried his head in his hands at the same time as Hanamaki flopped back against the headboard.

              “It’s okay. Really. I’ve been spending a lot of time in the lab being a nerd, so.”

              “No, it really isn’t okay. I’m a terrible best friend. I’ve got—”

              “Shut up. You’re fine. We were eventually going to have to deal with relationships getting in the way of our amazing and not remotely sexual friendship.”

              “But—”

              Hanamaki smacked a hand on Matsukawa’s face, dragging it down while simultaneously shushing him. “No. I want you to be happy, or something. Stupid.” Matsukawa gently headbutted Hanamaki’s shoulder.

              “I am.”

              “Okay.”

              “We’re good?” Matsukawa’s eyes slid over to look at Hanamaki, who had settled his head on his shoulder at an awkward angle.

              “Always. Do you still want me to answer that question you were going to ask me?”

              “No, don’t worry about it.”

              “Wanna go beat the shit out of Iwaizumi and Oikawa with pillows?”

              “Hell yes.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be away for a month, and shortly after I get back, my classes start...so, it may be well over a month til the next update.
> 
> I also didn't quite get to advance the plot as much as I had wanted with this chapter, so the next one will probably be ENORMOUS - I just wanted to have something posted before I headed off for a little while :)
> 
> Thanks for reading, friends!


	4. count your blessings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maintaining relationships is never easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO! It is I, your tardy writer. I know I promised a massive chapter, but I've split it into two because I feel bad about not having updated in a really long time. The next half will be up either tomorrow or Tuesday. So. Enjoy?

              "No, you're afraid of lizards. Remember that one time Matsu and I put that toy lizard in your locker and you shrieked like a small child?" Matsukawa and Hanamaki cackled, high giving each other. Oikawa frowned.

              "No, Makki. That was Kyouken-chan!" Iwaizumi nodded in agreement, guffawing.

              "You're telling me that this whole time—" Matsukawa began, voice trembling with mirth.

              "All of these years—"

              "It was our beloved, rabid kouhai that did the most perfect Oikawa imitation since CockroachGate of first year?" Matsukawa finished.

              "Matsu! That was a HUGE cockroach! It could have touched and infected me~"

              "Oikawa, you thinking it was a cockroach doesn't change the fact that it was a moth."

              "It also doesn't change the fact you screamed about alien cross-breeding before leaping onto Iwaizumi."

              "I was seeking safety." Oikawa crossed his arms and raised his chin defiantly. "And it was a violent, cross-bred cockroach demon. Probably sent by Ushiwaka-chan to punish me for not going to Shiratorizawa."

              "You're one hundred percent-"

              "Certifiably-"

              "Spectacularly-"

              "Oi, food's here," Iwaizumi said. Happier than pigs in mud, the four began their dinner, mentally bookmarking their conversation for later.

 

* * *

  

              After an uncharacteristically hot summer, it seemed like the city was reluctant to let go of all its accumulated warmth in early September. Where normally Oikawa would already be bundled up in fashionable layers, he was still in a t-shirt and shorts, teasing Hanamaki about his choice of scarf when the temperature was in the 20s. Iwaizumi was still proudly displaying his arms in a tank top, drinking from the tiniest espresso cup that his beefy hands could probably hold.

             “Iwa-chan, look over here!” Oikawa lifted his phone, charms jangling, and photographed a bewildered Iwaizumi and his comically undersized beverage.

             “Shittykawa, do your Instagram followers really need more pictures of me sitting in this stupid seat?”

             “Listen, you have become rather popular, even though you’re so…you. It’s amazing, really! You’re like the frog prince! Many people are envious of your place in my life, you know.”

             “Well, if they’re so jealous, they can have it,” Iwaizumi muttered darkly, taking a long slurp from his cup. The statement held none of his usual teasing lilt; instead, it hung oppressively in the air between the three. Hanamaki stared between him and Oikawa, as Oikawa's expression shifted almost imperceptibly from his genuine smile to a plastic front.

             “Iwaizumi?” Makki said, brows drawn.

             “What?” Iwaizumi replied irritably.

             Oikawa crossed his legs, tilting away from Iwaizumi and busying himself with the condensation running down his glass. Hanamaki made sure Iwaizumi was watching when he gestured to Oikawa with his head, scowling. Iwaizumi’s sigh was almost tangible, it was so heavy, but he put his cup down so he could run his knuckles softly down Oikawa’s upper arm. It was evident that this was a practiced motion because Oikawa’s rigid posture melted at the touch and his small smile was honest, if a little hesitant. Hanamaki brought his own amber bottle to his lips, sighing. Just a day in the life of a peacemaker.

 

* * *

 

             "Okay, so today I found out something really crucial to our development as humans and as linguistic savants." The announcement was far from being the most confident of all of Matsukawa's statements, but Hanamaki looked up from the sheaf of paper in his hands and took off his glasses expectantly.

             "Well, it's about time we brought the world into the next century," Hanamaki said sagely.

             Matsukawa flopped down next to him, tipping sideways since his hands were otherwise engaged in balancing his laptop.

             "So, apparently, in Italy, you can buy something called 'sexy pasta.'"

             "How is that different from any pasta I make? It becomes sexy by virtue of having been handled by me. Seems pointless, Matsu." Hanamaki looked on skeptically.

             "Yes, _but —_" Issei's eyes took on a delighted gleam. "—with this sexy pasta, we can finally resolve the age old question of 'what would a bag of dicks taste like?'" Beaming, Matsu pulled up a picture of multicolored dough penises wrapped up in a cellophane bag indeed labeled 'sexy pasta.' Hanamaki turned to him, face doing little to hide his childish glee.

            "So. What you're saying is that I could theoretically make a _bowl_ of dicks. And eat it. With sauce."

            "White sauce, naturally."

            "As is only natural, yes. The pasta dicks can only achieve homeostasis in white sauce." They stared at each other for a brief few moments, wiggling their eyebrows, before enormous grins spread across their faces and Hanamaki's fingers leapt onto the computer. "I'm buying you and me a bag of dicks for science."

            "Science dicks!" Matsukawa echoed, rubbing his hands together.

            "So many questions will be answered."

            "Fuck the research you're doing right now. _This_ is groundbreaking."

            "I'm going to leave the lab. There's no point anymore. I'm getting a Nobel prize in Pasta Dickery."

            "Can I go as your plus one to the award ceremony?"

            "Of fucking course. You'll be my prettiest plus one. Wanna grab my wallet? I'm getting enough of these dickbags—" Both began laughing uncontrollably at Hanamaki's statement. "—to horrify Oikawa."

 

* * *

 

             The late winter day dawned sunny but frigid, and with no classes to motivate him to get up, Matsukawa ignored his alarm and curled further into his duvet. He had half a mind to spend the whole day in toasty warm bliss, but Hanamaki had other ideas. He nearly knocked the door off its hinges when he barged in carrying coffee that was likely the consistency of tar, and some baked goods.

            "It's nearly one! The hell are you still in bed for, you lazy turd?" Hanamaki threw the blanket off Matsukawa, wriggling into the space it left.

            "There is a special place in hell for people who take other people's blankets in winter." Matsukawa chased after the fading heat, nearly toppling off his bed in his quest to reclaim his earlier cocoon of warmth.

            "I've been up since five, and I just got in from the lab. Come on, I need some social interaction that isn't with mice." Matsukawa leaned in and stole a bite of Hanamaki's croissant out of spite. "Hey!"

            "That was your payment for ruining my day's plans."

            "You can't just stay in bed forever. You slept in, now get your ass up and eat with me." Despite all his grumbling, Matsukawa was happy to crawl out of bed and spend some time at home with Hanamaki. It wasn't often that they got to hang out, and any time together was welcome.

            Matsukawa had tucked himself on the right side of the couch with his laptop on his thighs, and Hanamaki's feet under his butt. He spent the better part of the day writing what he hoped would one day become a book, having finally had a moment of inspiration, whereas Hanamaki had printed out scores of journal articles he had to read for an assignment to occupy his time. Hanamaki had put on his reading glasses and surrounded himself with highlighters, always chewing on at least one as he read. Matsukawa kept peeking over his laptop's screen at him, charmed by how infuriatingly _cute_  Hanamaki was when he was focused. It was hard to get into a groove while writing because Ichiro kept texting him, but Matsukawa did manage to write several thousand words by the time Hanamaki announced that he needed to be released into the wild to feed.

            That night, Hanamaki fell asleep on Matsukawa's shoulder on the couch, glasses askew on his face. Matsukawa pulled them off carefully, placed them on the side table, and pulled a blanket up over Hanamaki. He himself was slipping into slumber thanks to a high-quality game show when Ichiro called. Matsukawa grabbed the phone quickly so as not to disturb Hanamaki's peaceful slumber.

           "Hey," Matsukawa whispered, eyes trained on Hanamaki. "Can I call you back later?"

           "What are you doing, handsome?" Ichiro seemed really chipper considering the late hour.

           "Makki and I were just watching some t.v. We were both pretty lazy today and just hung around the house. I wrote some, he did homework and nearly set our kitchen on fire. It was a pretty good time! How was your day?"

           "I missed you around here all day! I stayed home, too because I don't really know what to do when you're not around."

           "Oh." Matsukawa didn't really know what to say to that admission.

           "It's okay, though! You can make it up to me." The smile in his voice was hard to miss. Matsukawa grinned.

           "How's that?"

           "You wanna come over now?"

           "I was going to go to bed soon, it's really late. Could I come by tomorrow after my first class?"

           "You don't want to see me?"

           "No, I do, but we both have early classes. I'm sure you're tired, too."

           "So, you'd rather spend time with him."

           Matsukawa sighed deeply as Ichiro's voice took on an edge. "No, Ichiro, I'm just tired and want to be awake when we hang out. I'm dead on my feet right now."

           "Well, so am I, but I'm willing to stay up. Whatever, if you don't want to, it's fine. You've obviously chosen who you'd rather be with."

           "He's asleep!"

           "Whatever, Issei. You live with him and still you want to stay home all the time."

           "I haven't slept here in a week, and I hardly see Makki anymore, anyway. Why don't you come over here?"

           "No, it's way too cold outside!" Ichiro protested, then let the silence grow.

           "Hold on, let me get dressed. I'll be over soon."

           "Was that so hard? See you soon! Love you."

           "Love you too."

           "You getting ready?"

           "Yeah, I'll see you in a little bit!"

           "Oh, I forgot to tell you, there was this absolute idiot online today," Ichiro launched into a story, leaving Matsukawa to try and gesture his way out of being Hanamaki's pillow. Aside from the occasional sound of acknowledgement, Ichiro really needed nothing more; he could talk his way through the apocalypse. Matsukawa carefully nudged Hanamaki awake, helping him up into a sitting position. Hanamaki was like a disgruntled hedgehog, eyes struggling to focus on the person before him, but he soon understood that he should probably make his way to his own bed. He smirked, gave Matsukawa a friendly tap on the head, and went into his room wearing the blanket as a cape.

            Matsukawa kept the phone pinched between his shoulder and ear as he threw jeans on over his shorts and grabbed the first sweater he could find in the explosion of clothing that was his bedroom. Ichiro kept talking even as Matsukawa slipped on his outerwear and left the apartment.

            "Ichiro, I can't hang onto my phone with these mitts on. I'll see you soon, okay?"

            Ichiro kept talking.

            Matsukawa arrived at the apartment, frozen to the bone, but at least the chill had woken him up. Ichiro was already in bed, and patted the empty space next to him with a smile. Matsukawa flopped onto the sheets, curling in to usurp as much heat from Ichiro as humanly possible.

            "Ah, you're freezing! Don't touch me with your icicle hands." Ichiro grabbed Matsukawa's wrists to keep his frigid fingers away. Fighting to press his hands against Ichiro's undoubtedly warm stomach, Matsukawa climbed onto him, squirming and wriggling. Matsukawa won, shoving his hands up Ichiro's pyjama shirt and splaying his fingers across the warm skin beneath it. "Stopstopstop!" Ichiro laughed, pulling Matsukawa into a bear hug. He leaned in to peck him once on the lips.

           "You know, since we're both awake and in bed..." Matsukawa slid one marginally thawed hand beneath the elastic of Ichiro's briefs, watching his face as he did so.

           "Not tonight, Issei. I'm tired. Let's go to bed, yeah?" He gently rolled Matsukawa off of himself, pulling the covers up.

           "Yeah, I'm pretty tired, too. Good night." Matsukawa kicked off his jeans and settled in to sleep, a little disappointed but grateful for rest.

           "Night. Love you."

           "Love you too."

           There was hardly a heartbeat's worth of silence in the room before Ichiro began talking again, "I think your roommate is really needy and you need to stop indulging him."

           Matsukawa's eyes shot open in response to the sudden knot of anger coiling in his chest.

           "First of all, he has a name, and secondly, how is he needy?" Rolling over to face Ichiro, Matsukawa propped his head up on his hand.

           "You don't have to stay home and hang out with him all the time. He needs to learn how to spend time with other people and not depend on you so much." For a second, Matsukawa considered that maybe he was imagining this conversation, and his subconscious was playing tricks on his tired mind.

           "Are we talking about the same person? Hanamaki Takahiro, strawberry blond, about 186 cm tall, on the charming side of asshole?"

           "Stop calling people assholes, it's rude, Issei. And yes, your weird needy roommate."

           "I call people assholes if they're assholes. Or if they're close friends. It's a very versatile word."

           "Are you a high schooler? Surely you can talk like you're an adult now."

           "I'm not sure what part of this discussion is making me angrier, Ichiro. Actually, no, the part where you're making things up about Makki is worse than the condescension."

           "He texts you all the time. It's obvious that he's jealous of your relationship and just wants to sabotage it," stated Ichiro, like this was an accepted fact. Matsukawa was so angry that he could barely pick what words to say.

           "I don't know where to start with that." Matsukawa got up and walked to the kitchen. He needed to have a glass of water to occupy his mouth so that he wouldn't say something he would regret later. It was one thing to insult him, but insinuating anything about his close friends, especially Hanamaki, would set the normally calm Matsukawa on a verbal rampage. Ichiro followed him into the kitchen, cornering him by the sink.

           "Why'd you leave?" Ichiro knew well why Matsukawa had left, but he wasn't one for respecting boundaries.

           "To calm the fuck down, is why."

           "Can we have a reasonable discussion without you swearing, for once?"

           Matsu was fast approaching the point of no return, gripping his cup with nearly enough force to shatter the thin glass. He inhaled deeply to try and bring himself back down from his stratospheric level of rage.

           "I'm an adult, and if I want to speak entirely using the word 'fuck,' then I will. I'm not going to, but it's my prerogative. Don't give me shit for it. Also, don't talk about Makki like that. He's not some desperate little leech of a man. He's been there for me for years, and he is not needy. He's respectful of our relationship and has never been anything but respectful of you."

           "Why does he always text you whenever anything happens in his life?"

           Matsukawa turned his hands palms up, and narrowed his eyes. "Same reason anyone texts their friends anything? Communication? Emotional support? Do you not text your friends in Australia ever?"

           "I have you for all of those things. I don't need to find outside sources for emotional support because you are mine. What's the point? Am I not enough for you?" Ichiro crossed his arms, looking hurt. Matsukawa felt an uncomfortable tightness growing in his chest, drawing feeling out from his fingers and toes. The guilt was a gathering mass on his lungs, working its tendrils into his stomach and neck. He felt sick. So sick.

           "No, you are. I just—I've always had my friends, especially the guys from Seijou, and I guess adjusting to being in a relationship is taking longer than I thought. It's hard to learn to depend on one person only, especially when you're used to being independent."

           "That's what being in a relationship is about, Issei. I know you're used to doing whatever, and being independent, but it's the two of us together now." Matsukawa hung his head and leaned back on the kitchen counter. Ichiro closed the space between them and wrapped his arms around Matsukawa's shoulders. "I forgive you, but please try to consider us a unit. I'll always be there for you, even when your friends fail you."

           "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. I'll be better, I promise." Matsukawa leaned the side of his head against Ichiro's, the crippling guilt loosening its grip on his heart. He greedily soaked in the warmth of his body, pulling Ichiro closer to himself to physically express his regret.

           "I love you, you know that?" Ichiro murmured against Matsukawa's temple, earning a sigh and a smile.

           "I love you too. You're too good to me."

           "Let's go to bed, hmm? We always fight when we're tired. It's like we never learn!" Ichiro chuckled, slipping under the covers. He was asleep in minutes, leaving Matsukawa to his turbulent thoughts well into the night.

 

* * *

 

           "I swear, for someone who acts like he's all experienced and knowledgeable about sex, you sure do blush like a maiden, Oikawa." Nodding thoughtfully, Matsukawa observed Oikawa's growing discomfort.

           "N-no! I am very comfortable with talk of-sex and stuff."

           Neither Matsukawa nor Hanamaki believed a lick of what Oikawa was saying. Grinning mischievously, Matsukawa pushed a banana towards Hanamaki, and picked up his own from in front of him. Oikawa's hair bounced with the confused tilt of his head. Cool as proverbial cucumbers, Hanamaki and Matsukawa nonchalantly peeled their bananas, eyeing them like one would appraise cattle. Iwaizumi returned from the bathroom and sat opposite the banana-worshipping duo.

          "Uh?"

          "Iwa-chan, what are they—" Oikawa's horrified gasp echoed through the cafe and both Hanamaki and Matsukawa grinned around their respective bananas. "So lewd! We're in public!" he hissed.

           Makki hummed, his eyes fluttering closed as the entire banana all but disappeared into his mouth. Even Matsukawa had raised his eyebrows in intrigue, completely missing the beginnings of Oikawa's near cardiac arrest. Iwaizumi was looking on, a mixture of pride and something significantly less PG fighting to claim his facial features. Satisfied he had everyone's full attention, Hanamaki clamped down on the fruit, his cheeks filled with banana as he chewed. Oikawa was moments from having steam shooting out of his crimson ears, Iwaizumi was attempting to clear a dry throat, and Matsukawa was flushed, not chewing so much as occasionally remembering to join his bottom jaw to his top around his own phallic snack. His eyes didn't leave Hanamaki once, having been reminded of the fact that his expertise extended beyond fruit.

           "That was delicious. Anyone up for a popsicle?" Hanamaki's eyes glowed with mischief. Oikawa moaned quietly, face in the crook of his elbow, his raised hand a metaphorical white flag.

           Later that afternoon, all four friends had gathered at Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s apartment to begin the scheduled festivities for Hanamaki’s birthday. Oikawa and Iwaizumi had baked a cake and gotten some horrendous movies ready so they could kill time before they headed out for a night of dancing. Hanamaki was three beers deep by the time they had all begun to get ready, and Matsukawa wasn’t far behind. Oikawa was nursing something multicoloured and humming over two outfits laid out on his and Iwaizumi’s bed. Iwaizumi was leaning on the wall of the bedroom and smirking at the whole spectacle. Having decided that their four hands weren’t distributed well enough for their taste, Hanamaki and Matsukawa were trying their best to multitask. Hanamaki was holding their beers and occasionally tilting one to both his and Matsukawa’s mouth, while Matsukawa was feeding them both from a massive hunk of cake on the dinner plate in his hands.  

           “Iwa-chan, I don’t know which one to wear!” Oikawa whined, looking over his shoulder at Iwaizumi, who was smiling fondly.

           “Tooru, either one will look good, just pick one.”

           “You shouldn’t give me options! You know I’m indecisive.”

           Iwaizumi sighed.

           “Oikawa, wear the one with the Seijou coloured shirt. That way you won’t match any of us!” Matsukawa gestured with his fork, moving it away quickly when Makki dove for it with his mouth. “No, that’s my bite, fatty.”

           “Yeah, Oikawa, it’d be tacky if we matched.” Hanamaki took a retaliatory swig from Matsukawa’s bottle. Just then, Matsukawa’s phone went off with a ringtone that all of them knew very well.

           “Yeah, hold on, don’t eat the cake, Makki. I swear, I’ll kill you if you eat my icing.” He put the plate down and stepped out of the room. Hanamaki put Matsukawa’s bottle down, drew a happy face in the icing and licked the excess off his finger. Iwaizumi and Oikawa shook their heads, and he just shrugged.

           “I was just leaving him a nice message. It’s not my fault some of the chocolate got on my finger.”

            The only person remotely sober by the time they arrived at the bar was Oikawa. Hanamaki and Matsukawa had decided to act out Mission: Impossible on their walk over, so it had taken the group upwards of forty minutes to walk a kilometer. Twenty minutes of that trip had been removing Hanamaki from a tree, as he had been convinced that Tom Cruise had probably, maybe, done that in one of the movies. Hanamaki had ended up jumping into Matsukawa’s arms to save himself, and had toppled the two of them into a particularly unforgiving bush.

            Once there, Matsukawa and Iwaizumi set up shop by the slightly quieter bar, watching Hanamaki and Oikawa dance in the dense throng of people beneath the spotlights. They were off in their own world, eyes half-closed, swaying to the rhythm of some Top 40 hit.

            “I don’t ever remember Makki moving like that. Actually, I don’t remember him ever mentioning he could dance, period,” Matsukawa mumbled, taking another long drag from a bottle of beer that was much too expensive for how awful it was.

            Iwaizumi shrugged. “He only does that when he’s blackout drunk. He won’t remember anything tomorrow, I guarantee you. This is the one thing Oikawa is really good at keeping secret.”

            Matsukawa paused, feeling a distant sadness at the fact that he had been spending so little time around his best friend that he had missed out on this revelation. All of a sudden, he felt like an outsider, knowing that Iwaizumi and Oikawa were privy to this information and he wasn’t. That was _his_ best friend. He should know everything about him, and yet—

            “I guess he and I never drank that much together in our first year.”

            “He’s been overcompensating because he spends so much of his time at the lab. He’s been working on some massive experiment, and I don’t think it’s going well.”

            “Ah.” Hoping the bitterness would wash down some of the guilt, Matsukawa finished his bottle and slammed it down on the counter. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Hanamaki, not even to pay the bartender for another bottle, but he wasn’t the only one. It felt like a blink later, Oikawa was gesturing Iwaizumi over because someone had gotten his meaty paws on Hanamaki’s winding hips and away from him. Matsukawa shooed Iwaizumi over to Oikawa, his grip on his bottle tightening. Once Iwaizumi was safely in Oikawa’s overeager embrace, Matsukawa resumed glowering at the man getting progressively closer to Hanamaki. The tiniest ember of anger burned in him, and though he wasn’t sure why, but he instinctively knew that this man should not have his disgusting hands all over Hanamaki. Makki looked over for a second, locking eyes with Matsukawa, then gently stepped away from the puzzled stranger.  Draining the mostly full bottle and leaving it at the bar, Matsukawa pushed his way through the crowd towards Hanamaki's bright smile.

           “You jealous, big boy?” Hanamaki laughed, wiggling his hips for emphasis.

           “Of what?” Matsukawa leaned in, feeling the overwhelming pressure of dozens of bodies shoving against the two of them.

           “Of my moves, obviously. I’m like a fucking professional, just look at me go.” He grabbed Matsukawa by the wrist and pulled him closer, doing a body roll to prove a point as though Matsukawa hadn’t been watching him for an hour. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Matsukawa knew being this close to Hanamaki probably looked bad, and could probably be misinterpreted, but somewhere in between the alcohol and the almost dizzying feeling of affection for the obnoxiously charming grin barely ten centimetres from his face, he had decided he didn’t care. He wanted so badly to be back in best friend’s life that physical contact could almost begin to fill the hole in his heart. Hanamaki snuggled up against him with most of his weight, likely due to the fact that he had had way too much to drink and wasn’t sure how to balance anymore. Matsukawa snaked his hands around Hanamaki’s waist to prop him up, ignoring the slender fingers slipping into his jean pockets.

           “Makki, you are too drunk to stand.”

           “Yes. ‘S my biiiirthday.”

           “Yes, it is,” Matsukawa confirms, using the tone he reserves for small kids. He laughs at Hanamaki's unbridled grin.

           “I made a friend. We were dancing.”

           “Yes, you were, I saw.”

           Hanamaki leaned back. “You saw? You were looking?”

           “I was watching you and Oikawa dance.”

           “I’m amazing, aren’t I? But he was also too short and not you, so that sucked.”

           Matsukawa felt his whole body warm considerably, and his brain-to-mouth filter break. “Why was that a problem?”

           “Duh, because you’re the best. You have really nice shoulders, too.” Hanamaki unwound his hands and smoothed out Matsukawa’s shirt. “Yes. Nice. I kinda want to bite one.” Over Makki’s shoulder, he saw Oikawa, arms around Iwaizumi, eyes narrowed in a calculating squint. Matsukawa jumped when Hanamaki carried out his earlier plan, sinking his teeth into the boniest part of his shoulder.

           “Ow! I thought you meant a little bite!”

           “Nooooo, that’s no fun. Your butt is vibrating again, _Issei_.”

           “Huh?” Matsukawa fumbled for the phone in his back pocket and answered it despite knowing how poor the reception was. “Hey, Ichiro.” The name rolled off his tongue, sobering him up, and he peeled himself out of Hanamaki’s hands to get better reception outside.

           Matsukawa curled into himself when he stepped out onto the freezing cold patio, clutching the phone to his ear.

           “Can you hear me better now?” he asked, pushing his free hand into his pocket.

           “Are you coming home soon?” Ichiro sounded irritated, but Matsukawa wasn’t surprised; he had been against the entire night out in the first place.

           “Well, no, I’m gonna stay at the apartment tonight because it’s closer, and Makki is a mess. I don’t think he’ll be able to make it home by himself.”

           “Can’t the other two just do it? It’s kind of a burden on you.” The exasperated tone in Ichiro’s voice was not new to Matsukawa at all, but he was hoping not to have to deal with it that night, of all nights. He just wanted to have one peaceful night with his friends to rebuild the friendship he had felt slipping through his fingers slowly.

           “It really isn’t. I don’t—“

           “How can it not be a burden? You’re probably going to have to take care of him all night.”

           “It’s not a burden because he’s my _best friend_ and I care about his safety.”

           “He did it to himself. It’s not like you fed him the alcohol. He’s an adult—“

           “Could you stop? It’s his birthday and he can do whatever the fuck he wants, and I’ll happily keep him alive for a twenty-four hour period because that is what I want to do. I’ll come by and see you tomorrow, alright?” Matsukawa’s voice had risen as far as he was willing to go in public, but he was struggling to keep it from increasing in volume. He hung up the phone before Ichiro had a chance to reply, but the momentary satisfaction was exactly that. He hadn’t even crossed the threshold of the bar when he started feeling guilt eating away at him. The passive-aggressive onslaught waiting for him tomorrow was going to be something else entirely, but Matsukawa was willing to trade a day of suffering for one relaxing night. He felt his phone buzzing in his pocket repeatedly while he looked for his friends, but he swallowed the steadily building regret and ignored it as best he could.

           “Matsuuuu! I’ve been cut off!” Hanamaki exclaimed. Oikawa and Iwaizumi were flanking him, apparently thinking he needed a leaning post or two.

           “Wow, I am not surprised at all.” Matsukawa laughed, catching Hanamaki’s dramatic pitch forward. Oikawa and Iwaizumi both reached forward to grab him at the same time, their eyes wide open in horror. “Okay, dancing queen, it’s time to get your drunk ass home.”

           “Nooo, see, I’m still okay.” Makki crossed his eyes, attempting to touch a finger to his nose but missing his entire face.

           “Fantastic,” Iwaizumi droned, voice drowning out Oikawa’s giggling.

           “Aren’t you glad that I don’t take pictures of you for blackmail?” Oikawa tapped a finger on his chin, grinning placidly as though to convince them of his innocence.

           “You’re too kind, really, Oikawa,” Matsukawa said, throwing an arm around Makki’s waist to help him get his coat and stagger out of the bar and into the street. Ever the subtly worrying friend, Oikawa left to go buy everyone a water bottle from the convenience store before they went their separate ways.  Matsukawa’s phone went off again while they were opening their bottles and Hanamaki took the liberty of taking it out of his pocket to silence it.

           “No phone. It’s my birthday. Also, I can’t reaaally open my water.” He extended his arm towards Matsu’s face, batting his eyelashes in what he hoped was a charming way. When that failed to convince his Matsukawa, he tried another method. “Peasant! Open mine water bottle!” Iwaizumi and Oikawa chortled when Matsukawa took the bottle and unscrewed the top.

           “Here you go, my liege. Your water.”

           “Yes, yes, quite,” Makki mumbled before succumbing to a giggling fit.

           “You’re good taking him home?” Iwaizumi asked, gesturing to Hanamaki.

           “Yeah, we’re good. Anything I should know about blackout drunk Makki?”

           “Just that he’s an adventure every time~”

           “Thanks.”

           Blackout drunk Hanamaki was indeed an adventure because he would not stop dancing around the apartment when Matsukawa was trying to get him out of his pea coat. He later proclaimed a desire to be Deadpool when he was peeling off his skinny jeans, then tripped over them and into the waiting Matsukawa’s arms.

           “I would make a terrible mercenary.”

           “You would, Makki. Sorry.”

           “What can I do with my life, now that my dream has gone?” Hanamaki wailed, throwing up a hand to cover his eyes.

           “Easy, drama queen. Let’s get you to bed.”

           “But I’m still wearing a shirt.”

           “Then take it off.”

           “I can’t.”

           Matsukawa rolled his eyes and pulled the shirt up and over Hanamaki’s head. “Happy?”

           Hanamaki stood with his pants stuck around his ankles and fists on his hips, grinning like he had won the lottery.

           “You are absurd. Come on, let’s go to bed and I’ll get you some more water,” Matsukawa told Hanamaki, knowing he probably wouldn't listen.

           Only after proclaiming that he was ‘so awake he would never, ever sleep again,” did Hanamaki fall asleep, curled up around Matsukawa in his bed. Matsukawa made the mistake of checking his phone before he dozing off, and dreamt of drowning in text messages.


	5. wait up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's something to be said about updating fic while you're on campus. I got carried away again, but I hope y'all enjoy chapter 4.5 (ish?)
> 
> ALSO THANKS FOR ALL THE RAGEY AND CRYING COMMENTS, I LOVE Y'ALL AND WILL REPLY ASAP.

                 The next morning was, for lack of a better word, uneventful. Matsukawa’s phone had vibrated off the table at some point in the night, likely around the time Hanamaki had taken to sleeping like a koala on a Matsukawa tree, and all sounds were muffled by a stray t-shirt. Matsukawa blinked the sleep out of his eyes and smiled at the drooling Hanamaki tucked under his chin. The blinds weren’t drawn, but the ominous gathering of clouds outside kept the room’s brightness to a blessed minimum. Realizing there was no way he could possibly move or go to the bathroom without disturbing Drunk Beauty, Matsukawa settled in for a few more quiet hours of silence and self-reflection. While he had managed to convince part of his mind that he was going to think about some plot points for his potential future novel, a majority of his consciousness funneled his energy into gently running his hands through Hanamaki’s unkempt, yet silky hair. The motion was soothing even for him, and watching Hanamaki’s ribcage expand and contract in a slow, steady rhythm began to lull him back to sleep.

                 When he woke next, the clouds outside had parted and his arms were loosely draped around Hanamaki’s shoulders. Matsukawa stared up at the ceiling, torn between savouring the quiet intimacy, and a desperate need to go to the bathroom. By this point, his bladder was threatening to explode, and he couldn’t help but wonder how Hanamaki hadn’t woken up with the same problem. He attempted to gently pry what would later be known as the Hangover Death Grip off of himself, and achieved a success of three centimetres of movement. When he was about to commence attempt number two, Hanamaki began mumbling in his sleep.

                 “—such a snuggly bastar’, M’suuuu.” Matsukawa froze. “Can I—water?” The question was a low whine, pained and pitiful. Matsukawa chuckled, shaking a protesting Hanamaki with the vibrations.

                 “I can’t get you water if I can’t get up, idiot.”

                 “Is that any way to speak to your senior?” Hanamaki slurred, burrowing into the blanket bunched up on Matsukawa’s stomach. Stilling enough to be believably asleep, Hanamaki appeared to have entirely forgotten his earlier request. Matsukawa tried to match their breathing so Hanamaki could go back to sleep, but the silence didn’t last long. Hanamaki's head popped up a moment later, wincing at the aggressive motion.

                 “What’re you doing here?” he asked, squinting. If there was ever a time to have needed a camera, it was at that moment. Hanamaki’s hair was stuck up all over his head, his eyes barely open past a sliver to assess the situation, and there was evidence of the seam of Matsukawa’s collar imprinted on the right side of his face. Matsukawa reached up to flatten some of the wayward strands, smiling fondly and only barely repressing a laugh.

                 “Last time I checked, this was my apartment, too.”

                 “Why you in my bed?”

                 “This is my bed. You were just belligerent last night and fought me when I tried to get you into yours. Well, you tried to force-choke me, then climbed onto my back like the overgrown toddler that you are. You were adamant about needing cuddles to fall asleep.” Matsukawa’s grin was only growing wider at the slow blooming of horror on Hanamaki’s face. He let his head flop back onto Matsukawa’s stomach with a groan, knocking the air out of his best friend with a soft ‘oof.’

                 “Ughhh, I don’t remember that at _all_.”

                 “What do you remember?”

                 “Cake.”

                 “And?”

                 “I vaguely remember something about a tree.”

                 “You jumped out of a tree pretending you were Tom Cruise in Mission: Impossible.”

                 “Why am I not broken?”

                 “I broke your fall, and a bush, in turn, broke mine.”

                 “Oh God, I’m so sorry.”

                 “I was pretty drunk then, too. It seemed like a great decision at the time, really.” Hanamaki’s eyes were peeking out from the blanket, watching Matsukawa with a strange expression. He lifted his head slowly and crawled up so he was face to face with Matsukawa, who was following him with his eyes, barely breathing. For a second, a brief second, Matsukawa contemplated if leaning up to kiss him would feel as good sober as it had that one drunken night, but that thought was mercifully shoved out of his mind by Hanamaki’s interpretation of the Mission: Impossible theme.

                 “I may feel like a bag of asses, and not in the fun way, but can I ever carry a tune,” he deadpanned, one arm draped over his eyes.

                 “Let me go get you some water. It’s funny because you always pretend like you wouldn’t be clingy after sex, but look at you after a few drinks. You nearly suffocated me like a weed on a tree.”

                 “You know, sometimes those vines can form symbiotic relationship—" Halfway through his sentence, Makki leapt out of bed and slid down the hardwood into the bathroom with a thud. Matsukawa got up, scrunching his nose at Hanamaki’s aborted prayer to the porcelain gods, and went to grab the poor man some water and the driest bread he could find.

                 “I hate everything,” Makki moaned later, buried beneath a mass of blankets at the corner of the couch. Matsukawa rubbed his back absently, having somehow found the small percentage of human buried in the lump of covers.

                 “You don’t hate cream puffs.”

                 “Of course not!”

                 “So you don’t hate everything.”

                 “You’re such a dick.”

                 “Oh hey, speaking of dicks. Want to eat a bowl of them for lunch?” Matsukawa had so easily been caught up in the familiarity of the banter, the contact and the presence of Hanamaki that he had scarce thought of anything else that morning. Even though Hanamaki was only 34% mentally present and 100% hung over, Matsukawa had missed these slow mornings of sharing each other’s company.

                 The gentle rubbing of his back had evidently put Hanamaki to sleep, so Matsukawa got up to make some semblance of food for the two of them. He may not have been quite at Hanamaki’s level of hangover, but his head wasn’t exactly in the right place, either. Several hurried knocks on the door startled both of them, and they took turns staring at the doorknob, wondering if it would open on its own. When the door didn’t indulge their hangover fantasies, Matsukawa walked over to greet the intruder that was so rudely interrupting their doing nothing. He flung open the door, fully expecting it to be Iwaizumi and Oikawa there to laugh at Hanamaki’s pain, but it wasn’t either of them. Ichiro stood in the doorway, smiling slightly, but not quite enough to reach his eyes. Matsukawa stood frozen, his innards starting to flutter as the guilt rolled back in waves.

                 “Matsuuu, who is it? They’re delaying my bowl of dicks!” Hanamaki popped his head out from behind the armrest and his expression flattened. Ichiro pecked Matsukawa on the cheek and stepped into the apartment, nodding in Hanamaki’s direction.

                 “I was worried about you. You didn’t answer any of my texts last night or this morning. I had no idea if you were okay or not!” Matsukawa stammered out some form of apology and turned on his heel to go look for his phone. Hanamaki watched Ichiro’s disappear into Matsukawa’s bedroom, whispering angrily. He got to his feet, squinting to try and focus his twelve available brain cells into moving him in a mostly straight line. He shuffled past Matsukawa’s door, leaning on the jamb to ask Ichiro if he wanted a drink of anything while he was up. Politely declining the offer, Ichiro asked Hanamaki to give him and his _boyfriend_ a minute. Hanamaki dragged himself into his bedroom and threw on one of his old practice jerseys so he was at least partly dressed. He couldn’t really bend over without getting nauseated, so he forewent putting pants on over his obnoxiously blue Hawaiian print boxer briefs, and returned to his blanket mound. When Matsukawa and Ichiro emerged, Matsukawa looked years more exhausted, though he did attempt a lopsided smile.

                “Are you gonna stay for lunch? Or whatever meal people eat at three is?” Hanamaki’s attempt to lighten the mood did not go unnoticed, but there was little Matsukawa could do to help it along; Ichiro was ready to go.

                “You gonna be okay by yourself?” Matsukawa asked, trying to apologize as best as he could with his eyes and body language, not realizing Hanamaki never blamed him for anything.

                “Yeah, I mean, all I’ve done this morning is reevaluate last night’s cake and booze, and groan quietly under a blanket. I can continue doing that all on my own. I don’t need your stupid face to judge me when I eat three grilled cheese sandwiches for late lunch and cry over Spirited Away. Shoo. Go have the sex that I’m not having.” Hanamaki made little shooing gestures at Ichiro and Matsukawa, still enveloped in his cocoon. Ichiro stepped out of the apartment first and Matsukawa followed, lingering at the door, mouthing ‘I’m sorry.’ Hanamaki waved him off, grinning broadly to assuage any fears Matsukawa may have had about leaving his hung over self alone. When the door shut, his face fell and he curled up slowly, in no mood to do anything but wallow.

 ooo

            “Issei?” Ichiro whispered. Matsukawa lifted his head from the pillow, still groggy and resenting the sun for rising on yet another school day.

            “Nnyes?” he mumbled, opening his eyes in sequence.

            “You’re here most of the time anyway, so I was thinking—“ Matsukawa blinked slowly to get his mental gears in action. It almost sounded like Ichiro was about to ask him to move in— “You haven’t renewed your lease for that apartment yet, have you?”

            “No, we haven’t.”

            “I think you should move in here, then.” He smiled brilliantly and Matsukawa grinned, leaning in to kiss him slowly. “Is that a yes?” Matsu nodded, biting his lip and propping his chin up on Ichiro’s bare chest.

            “That is definitely a yes. Wanna celebrate?” He crawled over to straddle Ichiro, being less than subtle about his intentions. Rubbing Matsukawa’s thighs, Ichiro shook his head.

            “You wanna make some breakfast instead?”

            “Well, not really, but I will. You totally owe me a blow job for it, though.”

            “Aw, you don’t want to do something nice for me, for once?”

            Matsukawa sighed, shaking his head and playfully throwing a pillow at Ichiro’s face. “Yeah, yeah. The only thing that tastes better than breakfast is me, Ichiro, and you know that.” Ichiro snorted, smacking Matsukawa’s butt as he clambered off the bed.

 ooo 

            Hanamaki stared at the printout in front of him, and the completely incorrect plot of his data. He crossed his arms on the lab bench and dropped his head onto them, sighing.

            “That’s another few months of my life gone.” He folded the sheet, tucked it into his lab book and tidied up the bench. Hanamaki threw a glance out the window at the night sky and threw his lab coat on top of the half-dozen coats already on the rack. The steps he took after locking the door were slow and dragging, but they led him to the bar as well as they had every previous night. His one bedroom apartment was lonely enough during the day, let alone when all he could hear was the voice in the back of his head reminding him of what a failure he was. 

 ooo

             There was a time when the words flowed easily onto his pages, but it was long gone. Matsukawa and Ichiro were sitting on his new couch, one struggling with a Word document, the other watching garbage television. Matsukawa had finished the essays he had due and was finally able to sit down for an afternoon and work on what he hoped would one day become a novel. The only problem was that now that he had time, his inspiration had magically evanesced overnight and replaced itself with a strange melancholy. His plot was sketched out in detail in the notebook Hanamaki had bought him for his birthday several years ago, but no matter what he wrote down, it didn’t align with the vision he had for his story. Each iteration was more frustrating than the last, so when Ichiro grabbed the laptop and moved it to the side table, Matsukawa didn’t even fight. Maybe he wasn’t cut out to be a novelist.

 ooo

             Summer holidays finally arrived, and so did the group’s yearly trip back to Miyagi for Obon. This year, Ichiro was going to join Matsukawa and meet his parents, but much to almost everyone’s silent delight, he had to take a later train. The four had piled onto an early train together, duffel bags in tow.

             “Yeah, he’s got to meet with a professor for something, I’m not sure. It’s his last year, so there’s some project—I don’t know. He’ll be there tonight,” Matsukawa told his hands, fidgeting with his phone. Hanamaki shoved him.

             “My mom said that she had a surprise for me, and that you should come too. She better not have gotten you something better than she did for me.”

             “It’ll be like your birthday two years ago!”

             “You’re not even her son!”

             “She wishes I were, Makki. She wishes I were.”

             Iwaizumi patted Hanamaki’s back in a quasi-reassuring way.

             “Matsu’s just less of an asshole.”

             “Iwa-chan!” Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow. “It’s just a fact that Hanamaki-san likes it when Matsu flirts with her.” Hanamaki tried to hide his head between his knees, enduring playful smacks from all his friends.

             “My mother doesn’t like Matsu because he flirts with her! Ugh, no. She just thinks he’s—“

             “Tall, dark and handsome?” Oikawa supplied.

             “Calm, cool and collected?” Iwaizumi added, nudging Matsukawa.

             “Okay, I don’t flirt with Makki’s mom.” He attempted to placate Iwaizumi and Oikawa with a hand on each shoulder. “ _Much_.”

             “OH MY GOD,” Makki howled.

             “Your mom’s a babe, Makki.”

             “I’m going to murder you.”

             “So is your sister, for that matter.”

             “STOP BEING A LECHER. YOU LIKE DICK.”

             “Do I _ever_.”

             Not one to miss out on an opportunity to fan the flames, Iwaizumi joined in. “Oikawa’s sister is pretty hot, too.”

             “Iwa-chan!”

             “Yeah, your sister’s gorgeous,” Matsukawa added.

             “My sister’s prettier.” Hanamaki now took this as a personal affront to his family.

             “Makki, this is not a contest you want to start~!” Oikawa leaned into Hanamaki’s personal space.

             Makki leaned in so they were nose to nose. “Bring it on, Hanger-san!” Iwaizumi began wheezing with laughter, and grabbing Oikawa’s head in both hands and kissing him on the cheek roughly.

             “I love you, but you will never live that down.” All he got in reply was a pitiful whine.

 ooo 

            Oikawa and Iwaizumi headed off to meet their parents when they arrived, and Matsukawa accompanied Hanamaki to his home to see what the surprise was. It didn’t take long for either to realize what his mom had hinted at when two delighted shrieks and colourful blurs leapt up onto Matsukawa.

            “Matsu-niiiiii!”

            “Matsu-nii? What about me? Guys?” Hanamaki’s nephews were hanging off of a laughing Matsukawa, giggling and trying to climb him. Hanamaki stared at them, his arms out, betrayed.

            “Aww, baby, are you sad that your nephews like your best friend better than you?” A very snarky voice piped up from behind Hanamaki and he whirled around to throw his arms around his older sister.

            “So you’re my surprise, then?” He beamed from ear to ear, squeezing her tightly. She pulled back and squished Hanamaki’s cheeks, ignoring his protests.

            “I am! We’re back in town for a week to see mom and dad and you and the amazing guy you’re too chicken shit to date.”

            “ _Fumiko._ ”

            “What? As your cool older sister, I am here to give you life advice and bring the harshness. You’re such a weenie.”

            “Why am I ever excited to see you?”

            “Because I bring you presents. I have some food for you afterwards, now let me greet my future brother in law. MATSU!”

            “Hey!” He waddled over, still carrying her twins, one under each arm. She embraced the three of them together, the trademark Hanamaki grin crinkling her eyes.

            “Has my brother been good in the last year? I wouldn’t _know_ because he NEVER CALLS.”

            “Neither do you, Fumiko!” Makki appeared at her side, frowning.

            “Who’s got an actual job and two kids? Oh yeah, me. You’re just a nerd, kiddo.” Matsukawa loved it when Fumiko would chew Hanamaki out because seeing him come second in a battle of wits and words was a rare occasion. Before Hanamaki had a chance to retaliate, his mom swept down on them all, kissing and hugging the whole group at once.

            “Mooooom!”

            “Oh, you’ve brought my favourite son!” Hanamaki smiled proudly, but his mother made a beeline for Matsukawa. He stared blankly at them both.

            “Why does everyone love him more than me?”

            “Matsu-nii can lift us higher!” The two shaggy-haired grade schoolers squirmed their way in front of their uncle, adorable smiles missing teeth.

            “I’m not that much shorter than him!” Hanamaki looked over at Matsukawa, who was talking animatedly with his mother, but threw him a quick glance and gentle smile. Hanamaki felt his ears redden, so he returned his gaze back down to his nephews.

            “We still love you, though!”

            “Come here, you tiny weirdoes.” Hanamaki picked them both up and threw them over his shoulders.

            “Don’t drop my kids! I don’t want them to become like you!”

            “Fumiko, stop teasing your baby brother!” their mom called.

            “I’m not a baby!”

            “Baaaaby brother.”

            “You’re the worst sister.”

            She barked a laugh and followed him into the living room.

            Hanamaki’s dad came home shortly after, just catching Matsukawa before he went off to see his family. Matsukawa said his goodbyes and promised to drop by again before the week was out because the twins insisted they needed to play volleyball with him and their uncle together. After dinner and dessert and a banter-filled time, the senior Hanamakis went to bed, along with Fumiko’s twins. Fumiko and Hanamaki were left sitting together at the kitchen table, drinking and catching up. It was near midnight, and the lights were dimmed, but the stories were many, and their time together was short.

            “So, how’s school, nerd?” she asked, untying her hair, which was just a shade lighter than her brother’s.

            “Okay, I guess. I like my classes, but lab’s been a bit rough. We’re not having any luck with our current procedure so it kinda feels like we’re chasing our tails. Overall, I’m good, though. Almost halfway into my third year, so I don’t think I’m doing too badly.” Makki leaned back in his chair, taking a slow sip from his bottle.

            “You’ll be graduating before you know it. I feel like you just finished high school. You need to stop getting older; it’s making me feel old.”

            “You _are_ old, though.”

            “Keep that up and I will bury you so far down that nobody will ever find the body.”

            “Mom would be so mad at you.”

            “She’d be more mad at you for provoking me.”

            “Yeah, you’re right. Ah, to be the magnificently successful first child.”

            “Don’t even act like you don’t reap the benefits of being the second kid.”

            “What, casual disappointment and all your old toys?”

            “You haven’t changed a bit. Now, onto important things. Your love life. Why are you not dating Matsukawa, huh? I thought you were supposed to be smart, or something. He looks tired. Of your shit, maybe?”

            “He just moved in with his boyfriend, Fumiko.” Every time he was forced to use that phrase, a part of him grew sadder and lonelier.

            “Oh. Ooooh. I’m sorry.” Fumiko looked contrite, though the expression was muddled by how far into her palm she was leaning.

            “It’s fine. I’ll find someone better.”

            “Wow, that has to be the worst lie I’ve ever heard. You didn’t even sound remotely convinced of it yourself.”

            “I need to move on, sis.”

            “I guess. I still maintain that you two have always had something going on. You look at each other so adorably, it’s ridiculous—“ Hanamaki extended out a palm to stop her.

            “This isn’t helping.” He stared out the window, turning back when she put her hand atop his.

            “He’ll come around.” Fumiko smiled, smacking his hand and leaning back in her chair.

            “A guy can dream.”

            “Hoo, you have it bad, huh? I never realized _how_ into him you were.”

             Hanamaki pressed his lips together and focused all his attention on the table. He himself had never realized how strongly he felt for Matsukawa until he was gone.

             “Ugh. His boyfriend is such an asshole. He’s really controlling and manipulative and just—Matsu deserves so much more. ”

             Fumiko shrugged. “I would make a joke about your cold dead heart learning how to love, but I feel it may be inappropriate. Be there for him, that’s all you can do.”

             Makki crossed his arms behind his head and fixed his stare on a spot on the ceiling. “I’d—I’d never let him look that downtrodden,” he sighed.

             “I know you wouldn’t.”

             Makki drained his beer.


	6. i'm not sleeping alone again tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things begin to fall apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ, FRIENDS!
> 
> First of all, thank y'all so much for all the lovely and ragey comments; they give me LIFE. Secondly, thanks to [pomelopasta](http://pomelopasta.tumblr.com) for being my beta but also for being my sinspiration (͠≖ ͜ʖ͠≖), among other things (you are great)!
> 
> PLEASE NOTE THAT THE RATING HAS GONE UP FOR THIS AND ALL THE FOLLOWING CHAPTERS. 
> 
> I've also made a mix of the [songs](https://8tracks.com/gnetophyta/boiled-frogs) I've been listening to while writing this!

             Hanamaki had taken his nephews out to eat every imaginable food at the festival, and was later joined by Oikawa and Iwaizumi, Takeru in tow. Takeru was at an awkward age for the group, too old to relate to the nephews, but still too young for his uncle. Despite this, he tried his best to participate, mostly by throwing playful jabs at Oikawa. By the end of the night, Saburo and Shiro had joined in teasing Oikawa, and it was five against one. Oikawa was huffily chewing on his takoyaki while Iwaizumi kept chuckling at how easily Hanamaki’s nephews had been swayed. Matsukawa and Ichiro didn’t join the small group until well over an hour after the set time, but they still managed to get plenty of great food despite this. Happy that their favourite not-even-related uncle was with them, the twins took to nagging Matsukawa for attention, talking a mile a minute about all their many activities and toys.

             “Does your sister have more sons?” Ichiro asked, referring to the twins’ names.

             “No, just the twins.”

             “Then why did she name them that?”

             “She thought it would be funny.” Hanamaki shrugged, smirking.

             “Actually?”

             “Yeah, she absolutely loses it when people ask her where her other two sons are. She _lives_ for that question.”

             “That’s…odd.”

             “Fumiko is the type of person to plan pranks six years in advance. Naming her only children ‘third son’ and ‘fourth son’ is pretty tame in the grand scope of things.” Matsukawa smiled, speaking proudly about Hanamaki’s sister like she was his own. Hanamaki nodded in agreement. Realistically, they had spent enough time together in high school that she considered Matsukawa a part of the family already, and the twins were also very vocal about their love for their quasi-adopted uncle.

             Matsukawa and Ichiro walked behind the group for the most part, chatting amongst themselves, even if Hanamaki kept trying to pull them into conversation. By the time the twins were dozing on their feet, Hanamaki was oddly subdued, dragging his feet by Oikawa’s side.  Oikawa leaned his head on Hanamaki's shoulder, rubbing his back.

             Matsukawa gave the four an abridged version of Ichiro’s meeting with his parents, largely due to the fact that Ichiro was present for the telling of the story. All in all, the trip had gone well, it seemed, and the Matsukawas were pleased to have met the man their son was sharing an apartment with. Hanamaki listened on, smiling at the appropriate moments, chuckling when the story called for it, but his mind was far away. He spent more time gazing outside at the scenery whipping by the train, trying to force himself to crush that nagging desire in his belly. He had almost convinced himself the feelings hadn’t begun stirring when he saw the way Ichiro rubbed Issei’s thigh like that of a lover, like something he’d never be.

             “Makki?” Hanamaki snapped to, face like a startled deer.

             “Huh?”

             “I was saying that you didn’t show Oikawa, Iwaizumi and Ichiro the present your sister brought you back from America!”

             “Oh.” Still blinking out of his brief space-out, Hanamaki took a moment before his eyes lit up. “ _Oh._ Yes, well. Seeing as how we are related, my sister has great taste, and she bought me this—“ He pulled out a five kilogram tub labeled ‘Nutella,’ his face split by a grin. “This! This is chocolate hazelnut spread. I love it. We are going to marry and have beautiful children.” The tub hit his lap with a loud whoomp.

             “Oh lord, we’re going to have to roll you to your classes,” Iwaizumi groaned, staring incredulously at the behemoth.

             “Can I try some, Makki?” Oikawa leaned forward, curiosity getting the better of him.

             “Only if you admit that I am easily the most beautiful person on this train.”

             “Makki, you know that I can’t lie that badly! Have you seen Oikawa-san?”

             “Even after all these years, none of us are ever sure whether you just have the most advanced sense of humour in the world, or you’re just really fucking vain.” Makki thrust a spoon under Oikawa’s nose, a silent offer.

             “Ah, I guess you will never know, will you?” Oikawa winked, his composure then ruined by how much torque he had to apply to open the plastic container. He delicately scraped the spoon along the creamy surface, avoiding the giant dent Makki had already made in the spread. He had barely put the food in his mouth before he moaned happily, yelling Iwaizumi’s name. Iwaizumi looked around the train nervously.

             “Iwa-chan!”

“Oikawa, don’t give me that look. I know what that look means, and I don’t—“

             “That look means he wants you to lick that off his body. We _all_ know what that means,” Matsukawa interjected, meeting Hanamaki’s gaze and laughing at Iwaizumi and Oikawa’s crimson faces. “I mean, who would say no, anyway?” The four all nodded in agreement. Ichiro furrowed his brow, pulling Matsukawa closer.

             “Hey, wanna see if I can make the entire train turn around and stare at us?” Hanamaki waved around a second spoon he had stashed in his bag.

             “Makki, no!” Iwaizumi, Oikawa and Matsukawa echoed.

             “Makki, yes,” Hanamaki murmured, taking a huge spoonful, letting his eyes roll back into his head as he took it into his mouth – all while getting tackled by Iwaizumi, who slapped a hand over his lips to spare everyone the humiliation of Hanamaki acting out a scene from a cheap porno. Oikawa and Matsukawa were laughing at the tussling mass of Iwaizumi and Hanamaki, and their fight over a chocolate-covered spoon.

             “You two are, collectively, a disaster.” Matsukawa chuckled, helping the two back up to their seats. Oikawa was still giggling softly, his hand covering his mouth.

             “Bitch, don’t touch my chocolate.” Hanamaki gestured at Iwaizumi’s face with his spoon, then stuck it back in his mouth with an air of finality.

 

             Technically, the hornier part of his mind nagged, nobody would know. Hanamaki kneeled on his bed, in the process of losing a staring contest with a delightfully conspicuous purple bottle of lube. He had woken up, once again, hard as can be, and he was contemplating whether it would be inappropriate to masturbate to the filthy dream he had just woken up from. The issue lay in the fact that the dream featured a certain aggressively not single best friend. By some cosmic rule he, or perhaps Oikawa, had created, the object of one’s fantasies would just _know_ if one were to rub one out on their account. While this was completely far-fetched, the seed of possibility had flourished in Hanamaki’s mind, and his hand hovered over the bottle like it had the power to condemn him to hell. He grunted angrily and clambered off the bed, padding over to his bathroom to begin his day. He took a good, hard look at himself in the mirror, bedhead and all, then down to the very obvious tent in his pyjama pants, back up, and back down. His eyes narrowed to slits.

             “Ah, fuck it,” he told his reflection, pivoting on his heel. He had made the executive decision to get off, weird cosmic theories be damned. It wasn’t his fault that his best friend was insufferably attractive and probably good in bed, if the dream was anything to go by.  In his haste to get off, Hanamaki hadn’t waited for the frigid lube to warm to room temperature, so when he had yanked his pyjama pants to his knees, he gave his ass an unwelcome temperature shock.

             “Goddamnit!" he hissed. It didn’t take long for the initial awkwardness to fade, and for Hanamaki’s mind to plunge back into dirtier territory. Though he’d always fancied himself as a top, dream Matsukawa’s visits to his subconscious had really changed his mind. It wasn’t as though he’d never fingered himself before; he was much too curious a person, but it felt different when he was specifically thinking of one person.

             It wasn’t long before the lube warmed up, and he circled his index finger around the ring of muscle in the cleft of his ass, eyes falling shut. In his dream, Matsukawa had done this for him, slowly but insistently, and though Hanamaki’s fingers were thinner, he figured he could use his imagination well enough. He imagined Matsukawa’s strong hands, the broad palms and the knuckles that he’d surely feel more than he would his own. One hand tugging the comforter beneath him to full tautness, because heaven forbid he masturbate on a rumpled bed, Hanamaki slowly pushed the finger in to the first knuckle. He bit down on his bottom lip, braced against the initial burn and stretch, gasping quietly when it began to give way. He was almost surprised when he remembered to exhale, not aware his lungs had temporarily forgotten their purpose in his body.

             Hanamaki’s mind supplied the presence of Matsukawa behind him, warm lips leaving memories of heat on his shoulders, one calloused hand smoothing down the plane of his hip like a well-traveled road, while the other gently continued working him open. It’s when Hanamaki tried to add a second finger that he gasped, pitching forward to lean on the hand he splayed on the fabric beneath him. He tried to breathe through the intrusion, tried to remember the murmured words of encouragement imaginary Matsukawa whispered in his ear as he slowly scissored his fingers. It was hard to think of anything else other than the way the tendons in Matsukawa’s hand would move when he tensed or flexed, the way it would look if he were stretching Hanamaki. Feeling comfortable enough after a minute or so, he curled his fingers in search of blinding pleasure, his whole body shuddering when he finally found it. The walls in the apartment were thin, much too thin to trap his moans and keens as he rubbed against his prostate, rocking his hips in a practiced rhythm. He was toying with the idea of driving himself to orgasm with only the thrusting and curling of the fingers in his ass, but was cut off, mid-moan, by a familiar ringtone. Why he had left his phone on and sitting on top of the covers escaped him, but Matsukawa called so rarely that— and his voice—

              “Hey, asshole,” Makki breathed, nudging a third finger into his already stretched entrance.

              “Dickface. Hey, so, I have an hour free before Ichiro’s done with his group meeting and I’m near your apartment. Wanna go judge hung over people at the café?” Matsukawa sounded as close as he could ever be to bouncing with excitement, and while this was normally endearing, at that moment, Hanamaki couldn’t think of anything but the timbre of his voice whispering in his ear. He swallowed a moan. “Makki? Hey? You there?”

              “Yeah. No, I’m here. Um, yeah, sure?” A strangled noise tumbled out of his throat, and he tried to mask it with a cough.

              “You sound really out of breath. You okay?”

              “Oh, um, yeah, just ran upstairs after—I got the mail.” Makki’s mind reminded him of what a pervert he was being, but that hardly slowed his quick and rough pace.

              “I don’t know why you bothered. Not like anyone loves you anyway. Alright, well, I’ll be by in about ten minutes. Bye!”

              “Bye?” Losing all grasp of the proper use of punctuation, Hanamaki dropped the phone next to his thigh, falling out of rhythm as he came hot over his hand. He was glad his neighbours were at work because otherwise, he may have had a concerned couple knocking on his door, wondering what kinds of exotic animals he kept and why their cries sounded like one name in particular. Hanamaki pulled his fingers out and stared at them in shame, like they were personally responsible for his sudden and inexplicable desire to hear Matsukawa whisper filth in his ear.

               “I am so fucked,” he muttered under his breath, waiting another few moments before he could get up and wash his hands.

               Matsukawa showed up at his door a scant ten minutes later, grinning despite the bags under his eyes and the sag in his shoulders. Hanamaki couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact; Matsukawa’s voice was making his insides squirm in an irritatingly pleasant way.

               “I know you’ve embraced Uni casual, but aren’t pyjamas going a little overboard?” Hanamaki found his hands full of a paper bag with a very familiar curly script on it. He must have run up the stairs, Hanamaki thought, eyeing the sheen of sweat on his forehead.

               “Are we doing a carrot-and-stick routine? Insulting me then trying to placate me with a cream puff?”

               Matsukawa smiled softly, his head tilted, then quickly slid into a shit-eating grin. “If I bought you multiple cream puffs, would that entitle me to multiple free insults?”

               “You are such a dick for exploiting my weaknesses, and no, that is absolutely not the case. You’d owe me _millions—_ “ Hanamaki prodded Matsukawa’s shoulder firmly, “—of cream puffs.”

               “So what you’re saying is that I shouldn’t even bother?” Matsukawa reached for the bag and Hanamaki’s eyes widened in horror. He smacked the hand away, but not before taking a moment to take stock of the long fingers and more pronounced knuckles, and the small scar running just above the webbing between thumb and forefinger. Hanamaki swallowed, lifting his eyes to meet Matsukawa’s confused, pink-cheeked expression. “Are you okay?”

               “No, yeah, no, I’m fine. I only woke up a little while ago, so I’m just—“ Hanamaki gesticulated in a manner that suggested a scatterbrained state of mind. “—I’ll be fine. Let me get dressed. One of us has to look good, after all.”

               Matsukawa followed him into the bedroom, sprawling across the bed, and Hanamaki eyed the folded corner of the comforter, heart thumping in his chest. He hadn’t really had time to clean up from his earlier _activities_ and had thrown one corner over the worst of the mess. Though it was completely normal and habitual for the two of them to hang out in their underwear together, Hanamaki half-hid in his closet as he changed, switching his pyjamas for a pair of tight jeans and a white, geometrically patterned shirt that he had originally ‘borrowed’ from Matsukawa. When Hanamaki poked his head back out of the closet, he saw Matsukawa staring fixedly at the bottle of lube still sitting on his bed. He turned his head towards Hanamaki and they held eye contact for the span of time it took Hanamaki to repeat ‘please don’t ask me to address this’ five times in his head.

               “I see you still haven’t gotten around to washing that shirt to give it back,” Matsukawa said, breaking their stalemate.

               “It honestly keeps slipping my mind.” Hanamaki finally heard a sound other than his own heartbeat thrumming in his ears.

               “Funny, that.”

               “Very. Plus, it looks better on me, anyway.” Hanamaki pointed finger guns at Matsukawa, winking comically.

               “It does.” Matsukawa propped himself up on his elbows, staring at Hanamaki, whose words had lodged in his throat. There was nothing he wanted more than to use the charged silence to his benefit, to straddle Matsukawa on the bed and kiss him until they couldn’t breathe. Instead, he stuck a beanie on his head and smirked. Matsukawa got to his feet, tugging up his pants.

               “It’s the curse of beauty, Mattsun. It’s just such a burden, and I must bear it all alone.”

               “Ah yes, the tragedy of your life!” Matsukawa put the back of his hand across his forehead dramatically.

               “So tragic. I almost want to cry.”

               “You can cry into your coffee, drama queen—“

               “Well, I _never—_ “ They made eye contact, then both burst into laughter at the same time. Matsukawa grabbed Hanamaki, throwing him over his shoulder and nearly buckling from the weight.

               “What do you have in your pockets? Lead?”

               “Actually, several flasks of mercury. You never know when you need to impress people with high density liquids.” Hanamaki held his beanie on his head, grinning as his upside-down face reddened. He stared at the ass so conveniently positioned right by his face, fighting the urge to grab it.

               “ _Nerd._ ”

               “ _Literate nerrrrd_.”

               “Oh, burn.”

 

                Matsukawa sat on the edge of the bed, yanking on a pair of red socks patterned with grinning stars. Ichiro rolled over, leaning in to look at them.

                “I don’t remember those,” he said, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

                “Oh, yeah, they’re new. Makki’s cousins gave me them, and now all four of us match.”

                “You don’t have to wear them if you don’t want to, you know.”

                “I know. I want to.”

                “They’re kinda juvenile.”

                “I think they’re cute.” Matsukawa wiggled his toes and grinned.

                “I think you’re a bit old for them.”

                “We’ve already established that I am a toddler at heart, love.” Matsukawa turned to Ichiro, planted a smiling kiss on his lips and stood. “I’ll see you after class?”

                “Are you really wearing that?”

                Masukawa looked down at himself, nervously tugging at the too-short sleeve of his hoodie. It was a warm enough outfit, he thought.

                “Yeah, I won’t be cold, don’t worry.”

                “You know I don’t like those boots, though.”

                “I think they look good?”

                “You look like a hooligan, or something. It doesn’t suit you.”

                “Oh. Okay, I’ll change them.” Matsukawa changed his shoes, tucking his favourite boots in the back of the closet.

  

 

_are you busy_

**_I’ve got a minute._ **

_how long is a minute_

**_Sixty seconds, Earth time._ **

_fuck you_

_i need your opinion on something_

**_On what?_ **

_i am having a clothing crisis_

**… _you’re the better dressed of the two of us._**

_it. is. important._

                Matsukawa grabbed his drink from the bubbly blonde barista, comforted by the fact that she still wore her little star hair elastic when she worked. He had found himself increasingly stressed over school in a way that he never had been before, and seeing something familiar eased the now permanent nervous bubbling in his chest. Matsukawa wrapped his lips around his straw, glancing down at his phone to see two new picture messages.

_ <suit1.jpg>_

_ <suit2.jpg>_

_which one_

_make yourself useful_

 

                 He swiped it open and promptly choked on his drink, coughing violently as he pushed the door of the café open with his hip. He continued to walk, blinking tears out of his eyes.

                 “ _Fuck,_ ” he wheezed, stopping to alternate between the two photos. Both were of Hanamaki, his tongue sticking out as he tried to fit the reflection of his whole body in the frame. He was wearing a fitted, slim gray suit that he had gotten tailored, no doubt, and in one photo, a mint button down, royal purple in the second. It wasn’t as though Matsukawa hadn’t noticed that Hanamaki was good looking. He just looked downright criminal with the way the suit sat on his shoulders and the pants hugged just closely enough that it hinted at how strong his legs were. Matsukawa slurped down his drink to cool himself off, taking his eyes off of his screen for a minute or two.

 

_youre killing me_

_is it that bad_

**_No, you look incredible, holy shit._ **

_lying doesnt suit you_

_get it_

_suit_

_haha_

**_…_ **

**_I’m not lying- you look great in both, but I think the mint suits you more._ **

_thanks_

**_What’s the occasion? You’re too nicely dressed for a date._ **

_excuse you_

_my fashion game is always strong_

_but its for the conference im going to next week_

**_Conference?_ **

_yeah_

_im presenting my project on behalf of my supervisor along with one of the grad students_

**_Holy shit!_ **

               

                Matsukawa hit dial, and his call was answered seconds after.

                “Why is this the first I’m hearing about this? What the fuck?”

                “I didn’t really tell people about it.”

                “Why not? Isn’t that a huge deal?”

                “Sort of?”

                “ _Sort of_? Come on, Makki. We have to celebrate, or something! You’re a big-shot science nerd now!”

                “Oikawa said he was gonna organize something, maybe. I dunno.”

                “Oh, he knows?” For the first time in their years of friendship, Matsukawa felt like he was an outsider, peeking over a fence into the others’ lives. He never imagined having a boyfriend meant having to give up his three closest friends in exchange.

                “Yeah, he and Iwaizumi were there when my professor called me about it.” It wasn’t anything to get choked up about, Matsukawa repeated like a mantra in the dead air of the phone call, the words echoing in his head. He heard Hanamaki take a deep breath. “I know you’re really busy and stressed out, so I didn’t want to bother you.” Hanamaki's voice had gone unusually quiet and Matsukawa couldn't help but sigh deeply.

                “I’m never too busy for you, though. Especially for something as big as this. Come on, don’t you know me better than that?” The hint of desperation lacing his words didn’t bother Matsukawa; it was a plea to reconnect, to rebuild the bridge between them faster than it could crumble.

                “I thought I did, but you never really pick up anymore,” Hanamaki said, muttering ‘fuck’ quietly after, and Matsukawa knew he was running a hand through his hair. “It’s not your fault, I’m sorry.”

                “Of course it is. I’ve been really awful at keeping in touch, and it _is_ my fault. I—I don’t know what to say. Just that I’m sorry. I really am. Please don’t shut me out. You’re—“

                “No. It’s not your fault. I should’ve called.”

                “Yeah.” Matsukawa exhaled slowly, listening to Hanamaki breathe on the other end.

                “Mattsun?“

                “Yeah?” Ichiro rounded the corner of the building ahead of Matsukawa, waving cheerily. Matsukawa blanched, wanting to hear what Hanamaki was going to say, but knowing there would be a slew of questions from his boyfriend to deal with after.

                “I mi—“ Hanamaki began.

                “I’m so sorry, ‘Hiro, I have to go. Can I call you later, please? I’m _so_ sorry.” Matsukawa hurriedly ended the conversation, hoping he hadn’t just done irreparable damage to their friendship.

               “Yeah.” It was more of a sigh than an actual word and it _hurt_.

               “Bye!” Matsukawa hung up, feeling like someone had laid a lead weight on his already painfully tight chest.

  

            It was getting annoying, Hanamaki thought, seeing the regular barista glancing over at his table with that pitying look on her delicate features. This was the first time in years that any of them had ever sat alone at their four-person table, and it felt as empty as it looked. In the back of his mind, he wondered if either Oikawa and Iwaizumi had contacted Matsukawa to let him know about the breakup, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if they were too wrapped up to do so. Hanamaki fanned out his homework, looking for his phone.

 

_hey call me when you have a minute_

 

             The reply came almost instantaneously.

 

**_I probably won’t be able to for a while; I’m in the library._ **

**_What’s going on?_ **

_have you spoken to either of the wonder twins in the last few days_

**_No, not really. Oikawa hasn’t sent any selfies in a week, and I’m not sure whether I should be concerned or not._ **

_about that_

_he and iwa broke up_

_so_

             There was a pause.

 

_**Wait, what? Actually?**_

**** _yeah_

_**Shit.**_

**_Shit!_**

**** _yeah_

_**Do I call? What do I even do right now?**_

**** _oikawa called me on wed_

_he sounded pretty wretched_

_iwaizumis not much better_

_im meeting up with oikawa after his game this wknd_

_**Fuck. If they can’t stay together, what’s to become of us mere mortals?**_

_save your pretty words for the novel_

_you gonna come to the game_

Predictably, Matsukawa tried to come up with an excuse to cover for the fact that Ichiro was reluctant to do anything involving his friends. It hadn’t taken Hanamaki long to pick up on the meaning of Matsukawa’s pauses in texting; they had spent too much time together in the past years for him to miss something like that.

 

_**I wish I could, but I’ve got a lot of work to do.**_

**_I’m gonna go text them, at least._ **

**_Fuck, what’s gonna happen now?_ **

**** _i wish i knew_

_they both said they were gonna try to be friends_

_so_

_well see i guess_

_i hope oikawa doesnt do anything stupid_

**_He probably will. Iwaizumi’s probably going to go deadlift an elephant._ **

_if he can find one heavy enough_

_i swear if his thighs get any bigger_

_hell have to wear kilts_

_nothing will fit him_

**_He’ll be like that guy from that movie._ **

_yeah i know exactly what youre talking about_

_that guy from that movie with the face and the body_

_also the voice_

**_Don’t be an asshole. I know that you know exactly what I mean._ **

_i do and the movie is braveheart_

**_You know I suck at English._ **

_you suck at a lot of things_

_i cant keep track_

**_…_ **

**_And I reiterate: you are a bag of dicks._ **

_but im so cute_

_go work on your essays you asshat_

**_Fine._ **

_eat something_

**_I did._ **

_i can hear you lying_

_go eat_

_… **I don’t have time right now.**_

_bullshit_

_dont make me come feed you_

**_You don’t need to come feed me._ **

_you loser_

_what floor are you on_

**_I’m not telling you. You’ll actually come with food._ **

_fine_

_ill just check every floor and play the penis game by myself_

_you better still like those heart attack burgers_

**_Makki, nooooo, you don’t need to._ **

_im doing this out of spite_

_it has nothing to do with my deep unrelenting love for putting things in your mouth_

_**Thanks.**  
_

_**Asshole.** _

**** ****

            Hanamaki guffawed and packed up his stuff, finding himself a new purpose for the next hour. He wrapped his scarf tightly around his neck and waved to the short, blonde barista on his way out into the gently tumbling snowflakes.  

  

 

             Matsukawa missed Oikawa’s game and missed the delighted look on his face when he was named a starter yet again over first year prodigy Kageyama Tobio.

 

 

             It was almost time for his presentation, and Hanamaki, boisterous and confident normally, was struggling to keep his hands from shaking. The conference was an incredibly important moment for him career-wise, so he couldn’t afford to do all the research a disservice. Not only that, but he had to support his supervisor, and hopefully answer questions in a coherent and educated way, with the help of one of the senior graduate students. Hanamaki felt like he was going to throw up. He didn’t feel prepared despite all the late nights practicing and reviewing, the early mornings spent pestering his supervisor for feedback which usually amounted to praise that Hanamaki didn’t know how to accept. He fumbled for his phone, calling the one person he knew could calm him down, having had to before countless other presentations and speeches in the past. He squatted down by the wall, tilting his head up to breathe shallowly as he dialed the number. On his way out, one of the grad students in the lab gave him a reassuring slap on the shoulder, which Hanamaki responded to with a weak smile.

             

               Matsukawa peeked over at his vibrating phone, seeing Hanamaki’s squished face light up the screen. He reached towards it, feeling like it was important, but was stopped by Ichiro picking the phone up.

               “Can I answer that?”

               “Nope, we’re watching a movie!” Ichiro put the phone on the side table, letting it buzz on top of a stray notebook. Matsukawa stared at it guiltily as it went to voicemail again, finally stilling after three calls.

             

                Hanamaki inhaled deeply, dropping the phone next to his foot and burying his face in his hands. Hey, he thought, at least I look great in mint.

 

 

                Matsukawa was curled up in a blanket one cold night, watching less than inspiring television shows while he made his way through an entire bag of chips. Ichiro had gone to another group meeting for his final project because the deadline and his graduation were looming ever closer. For the first time in weeks, Oikawa posted a picture in their group text. Surprisingly, it wasn’t a selfie, but a picture of Takeru in a volleyball jersey, peace sign up and tongue stuck out. Matsukawa laughed at how the nephew that complained constantly about his uncle had imitated all his habits. He dialed Oikawa, overdue for some quality time, and besides, Ichiro wasn’t going to be back for hours.

                 “Ya-ho~” Oikawa chirped happily, answering on the second ring.

                 “So I see you’ve finally succeeded in molding Takeru into Oikawa version 2 point 0. Maybe he’ll be a little less pompous going into high school than you were, huh?”

                 “Rude! Did you just call to make fun of me, Mattsun?”

                 “No, I wanted to see how you were, actually.”

                 “Oh!”

                 “Makki told me about you and Iwaizumi.”

                 “Oh.” The faux cheer all but melted away and Matsu could hear how tired Oikawa was. “Yeah, we decided to—hmm. I don’t really want to have this conversation on the phone, Mattsun.”

                 “Do you want to meet up?”

                 “Yes, that could work. I have a two hour break before practice tomorrow, or maybe after?” Knowing full well Oikawa was staying long after his practices were over to keep his starting spot over ‘Tobio-chan,’ Matsukawa wanted to make sure he took a break at least once.

                 “I’ll meet you after practice. What time are you done?” he asked, hearing Oikawa’s hesitation.

                 “Well, we finish at nine, but by the time I change and shower—is ten thirty too late?” Oikawa asked hopefully.

                 “How about I meet you outside of the change room at nine thirty. I’ve seen you all sweaty and gross, so I don’t mind.” If Tooru had anything against the idea, his voice did not betray it.

                 “Oh, okay, sure~! I’ll see you then, Mattsun.” Oikawa’s tone warmed around the syllables of his long-standing nickname.

                 “See you then. Have a good night.”

                 “You too. Take care of yourself, please.” Oikawa hung up, and Matsukawa stared at the phone, wondering why the person who needed support in the conversation seemed like he was trying to comfort _him_.

 

 

                 "Hanamaki, it is two in the morning. You better have a damn good reason to be calling me. And I mean you better be dying or in prison. If you're in prison, I will become the reason you are dying."

                 "Hanamaki-san has a hypothetical scenario for you." Hanamaki was lying on his bed, pulling threads out of an old blanket.

                 "'Hanamaki-san's' hypothetical scenario better not involve prison."

                 "So, have you ever wondered whether everyone in your life would be better off if you just didn't exist?" Hanamaki heard rustling on the other end, and the sound of a light being flicked on.

                 "Stay on the phone with me, please."

                 "That sounded really bad, I'm sorry. Oops." A giggle. "I don't want to off myself, I'm just posing theoretical questions because I can't figure out why I'm here. In the universe, not my bedroom. I figured the resident pre-med student could enlighten me. Also, Oikawa needs to sleep before his game tomorrow and Mattsun's handler doesn't like it when I text him."

                 "He what?! Hold the fuck on, I'm coming over. Keep talking."

                 "I'm fine, Iwaizumi. Really. Aside from being a crippling failure of a human, I'm _great_.”

                 Iwaizumi nearly kicked the door down when he arrived at Hanamaki's apartment, and looked more panicked than Hanamaki had ever seen him. He rolled over in bed and woozily sat up.

                 "You didn't have to come over. You need sleep."

                 "Like hell, I didn't. What the fuck is happening with you?" Iwaizumi dropped onto the bed like a lead weight and tipped Hanamaki over. He threw a hand out to steady himself.

                 "I'm having a bit of an existential crisis." Noting Hanamaki's inability to focus on his eyes, Iwaizumi grabbed him by the upper arm and dragged him to the kitchen.

                 "If anyone ever asks me why I go to the gym so much, they should really see how often I have to drag you assholes around." He let the tap water run cold, then filled a glass up for the strawberry blond disaster currently leaned over the counter. "Drink that, then tell me why you're at home, drunk by yourself on a Wednesday."

                 Hanamaki chugged the water, ignoring the rivulets running down his chin and neck. Iwaizumi watched him closely.

                 "I told you, existential crisis." Iwaizumi's sharply arched eyebrow indicated that wasn't anywhere near a satisfactory response. "Lemme sit down first."

                Once they were in the living room and both consumed by the steadily deteriorating blue couch, Hanamaki began. Iwaizumi's eyes flicked from Hanamaki to the orderly assortment of highlighted and tabbed articles arranged on the floor, and back to the mess that was their owner.

                "I don't even know where to start. I guess—well, I probably started getting really bummed around the time that big experiment of mine failed. I spent six months working on it and we got absolutely zero results from it. Which is shitty, at best. So, I've been trying to make up for being a colossal fuck-up in the lab, but things keep going wrong. I go in every day waiting for my supervisor to tell me I'm done because I've fucked over years of research, and then my scholarships and job opportunities will be done, and I will have disappointed my entire family and my nephews won't look up to me because I'll probably have to move back in with my parents until I die—" Hanamaki buried his face in his hands.

               "Didn't you say the experiment failed because of your supervisor's mistake, not yours?"

               "Well, yeah, but I actually did the experiment. I didn't question the procedure."

               "Hanamaki. You're an undergrad. In what world do you expect to know more than your professor? Stupid." Iwaizumi smacked Hanamaki upside the head. "You keep getting asked back to work for a world-renowned researcher as an _undergraduate_ not because you're a colossal fuck-up, but because you're obviously good at what you do. Stop being a shit and give yourself the credit you deserve. You've been working there for three years now, and didn't you mention your colleagues come to you for help? Colleagues that ARE NOT undergrads? You just turned 22, you moron, and you have presented your work at a conference. What the fuck, seriously."

               "But I—"

               "Shut the fuck up. Was that it, or is there more shit you're upsetting yourself with?" Iwaizumi punched him in the arm, and Hanamaki rubbed the sore spot.

               "I was expecting your comfort to be less violent."

              "Then you should have called Oikawa."

              "He's asleep."

              "I will bet you my life that he is watching game tape right now."

              "Good point, as always."

              "No avoiding the topic. What else?"

              "I feel like everyone around me is falling apart?"

              "In what way?"

              "I mean, you and Oikawa just broke up, and Mattsun—" Hanamaki took a sharp breath, "he's with someone awful and the worst part is that I could have prevented it by not being a giant chicken shit." Iwaizumi smacked him upside the head yet again, taking care to use his left hand that time. "That's gonna sting for awhile."

              "Fuckin' good. Then you can be reminded of how stupid you are every time it does."

              "Can't we just hug it out?"

              "No. And Oikawa and I aren't falling apart. Shit happens, Hanamaki, but don't get all weird over the two of us. We'll always be friends, if nothing else, because there isn't a universe in which we exist that will keep us apart. As far as Mattsun is concerned, though, blaming yourself is stupid. I swear on every Iwaizumi that has come before me, if I see that blond asshole in a dark alley on his own, I will beat the shit out of him with no regrets. None at all. But, Mattsun is an adult making adult decisions; thinking your cowardice on one night will change his life dramatically is giving him too little credit. God, all three of you are such idiots, sometimes." Iwaizumi rubbed his temples, then rose to his feet and went into the kitchen.

               While pulling ingredients out of the cupboards, he proceeded to explain his earlier statement to a bewildered Hanamaki. "I'm pretty average as far as intelligence goes—"

              "Iwaizumi, you're second in your class in pre-med-"

              "That's because I'm stubborn as a mule and work hard. I have to put in the time to get the grades, and I'm willing to. You, Oikawa and Matsukawa are different. You're all really smart. It's just a fact I've come to terms with, don't give me that face. Oikawa will sit in class, pay attention for half of it, and will walk out knowing most of the material covered. You're the same, and I know Matsukawa is too. He's the laziest human being I have ever met, but whatever. So are you, come to think of it. You three are also the most INFURIATINGLY self-critical—" Hajime threw a saucepan onto the burner, "—and self-deprecating people that I have ever met. You think you're the worst if you're not fucking prodigies, and even at your worst, you're so above and beyond everyone else that it's stupid. It makes me crazy sometimes. And you have Oikawa working himself to death, you trying to drink yourself through University—don't think I haven't noticed all the bottles you hide—and Mattsun hating himself so much that he is in a relationship with the biggest shitstain of a human to ever crawl on this Earth." Hanamaki stared at his hands, feeling like he had been stripped bare before a crowd.

              "I feel like Hitler may be higher on the list—"

              "Now is not the time for you to get sassy."

              "You _do_ have a knife."

              "I don't need a knife when I have these guns." Iwaizumi flexed, smiling. Hanamaki was caught so off guard by the sudden humour that he stared blankly at Iwaizumi's arms before making a really loud "pfffft" sound into his fist.

              "Oh my God. That just happened."

              "It did. Where're your spices? Anyway, what I was saying was that smarter people are more prone to being fucked up. I'm too dumb to doubt myself. Well, smart enough for it to happen sometimes, but not enough to consume my life."

              "Iwaizumi, you're not—"

              "I never said I was stupid, just stupider than you geniuses."

              Hanamaki sighed, sliding down his fridge to sit in a heap on the floor. The companionable silence was punctuated by the gentle burbling of the liquid on the stove, and Iwaizumi's periodic shuffling through the drawers. Some time later, he thrust a bowl into Hanamaki's hands and tossed a pair of chopsticks in his direction. Hanamaki blinked up at him slowly, his buzz fading only to be replaced with a thick-as-molasses haze of exhaustion.

              "This is good," he muttered through a mouthful of udon.

              "It's Oikawa's favourite midnight snack."

              "Bet he'd starve without you." Iwaizumi sat next to Hanamaki, slurping noodles from his own bowl.

              "Nah, Oikawa's a good cook. I just love how he smiles when I make him something. That's why I end up cooking most of the time." Iwaizumi's face always softened when he spoke of Oikawa, eyes lost in a world that only one other person could reach. Hanamaki watched that faraway look drift across Iwaizumi's features, a smile growing in its wake. "Oikawa's not meant to be anchored down. He needs room to spread his wings whenever he wants, not worrying about stupid everyday things. If he comes back to me, I'll be really happy. If not, I'll be happy if he is." Iwaizumi stared out the kitchen window, his meal forgotten. Hanamaki stared at the ripples on the surface of his broth and thought about whether he could be happy not being with Matsukawa if he were happy with someone else. Assuming Matsukawa would want to be with him in the first place. The rising protest in his stomach had little to do with the beer still sloshing around in his system. He swallowed thickly.

              "What's it like to love someone that much?" Hanamaki asked. Iwaizumi chuckled, turning one eye towards Hanamaki.

              "I think you know." Both men paused.

              "He just seems so flat and not himself anymore. I hate not seeing him but it's almost worse if I do. I just want him smiling all the way to his eyes again."

              "There's nothing you can do but be there for him."

              "What about vehicular manslaughter?"

              "Two options, then. I'm not bailing you out, though.” He paused thoughtfully. “Makki?" Iwaizumi placed his bowl on the ground and turned so he was fully facing Hanamaki.

              "Yeah?"

              "How often do you drink a week?" Hanamaki choked on a piece of tofu. He had secretly been hoping Iwaizumi had forgotten his earlier slip and would leave him be. Hanamaki carefully mulled over what answer would straddle the line between exaggeration and outright lying. "A few nights."

             "Well, if you're not going to be honest with me, be honest with yourself." Iwaizumi's scrutinizing gaze had a way of drawing out your deepest darkest secrets for fear of an otherworldly smiting.

             "Almost every night," Hanamaki murmured, staring down at the stars on his socks. His nephews had given him those for his birthday. He looked back up at Iwaizumi. "I get drunk, by myself mostly, almost every night." He pinched his lips together to stop them from trembling. While Hanamaki was expecting Iwaizumi to look angry, or at least disappointed, he just seemed sad. Hanamaki's eyes welled up, but he wiped them hastily to save himself from yet another embarrassing display.

             "How long?"

             "A while. Eight months, ten, maybe? A year?"

             "So you realize that's not normal." Hanamaki nodded, wringing his hands. Iwaizumi continued, "I'm willing to bet you haven't talked to anyone about this."

             Hanamaki shook his head in response, loosening a tear. "I just make jokes about it because I don't know what else to do. I don't know how else to get by when it feels like everything is coming down on me. I'm a complete mess and I don't want to burden anyone with it. I stare at Mattsun's number, wanting to call him, but that's not fair. It's not fair. His life is rough enough without my whining. And I'm sorry I called you. I shouldn't have woken you up just to eat your delicious food and have you watch me cry all over my kitchen floor. Ugh." Hanamaki's voice warbled weakly, cracking again when he looked at the little smiling star on his sock.

             "You're coming with me to the gym."

             "So I can watch you and your bara arms challenge everyone and win? Kyaaa~" He sniffled.

             "No, so you can do something better with your evenings."

             "I'm gonna get the biggest arms you've ever seen and I will finally beat you in arm wrestling!" Hanamaki smiled brightly, wiping his cheeks dry.

             "Not a chance, twiglet."

             Hanamaki slurped up the last of his udon. "Thanks."

             "Don't thank me. You still have your shit to figure out. Start by calling Mattsun and cleaning out your fridge."

             "I wonder if he's awake—"

             "Not right now, dipshit. You need to sleep. I swear, though, I am willing to put my career as a doctor on the line to go break Ichiro's neck."

             "What about the whole 'do no harm?'"

             "Now that your sarcasm is back, go the fuck to sleep. I need to get back home. And besides, I haven't taken the Hippocratic oath. I can break as many necks as I want."

             "Ladies and gentlemen, the future Dr. Iwaizumi."

             "Shut up and go to bed."

 

 

             “It’s not so much a breakup as a—well, a trial period, of sorts—“ Oikawa stared at a point in the distance, gesturing, puffs of breath lingering in the air in front of him. Hanamaki raised a thin eyebrow that disappeared under his knit hat.

              “A trial period breakup?”

              “I was telling Mattsun—” Hanamaki put a hand on Oikawa’s chest, stopping him.

              “You’ve heard from him?”

              “Yes! Actually, he called me a few nights ago to talk. We ended up meeting for coffee and catching up.” A warm smile curled Oikawa’s lips and he took a small sip of his drink.

              “Oh. I haven’t heard from him in two weeks. Is he doing okay?” Hanamaki wrapped both hands around his cup, eyes trailing the wisps of steam rising from the hole in the top.

              “He seems fine, though he’s really jittery.”

              “Jittery?”

              “It’s like he has a lot of pent-up energy. Or maybe he’s just nervous about something.” It was a strange concept for both the men to wrap their heads around because of all of them, Matsukawa was the least fazed by common stressors. He was normally the epitome of relaxed and easygoing, calm to an infuriating degree. “You haven’t talked?”

              Hanamaki shook his head, speaking quietly, “no.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway. Sorry to interrupt. Trial period breakup.” Oikawa nodded, licking his lips.

              “So, we originally got into a huge fight over something stupid and I—” Oikawa’s expression turned sour at the memory, “I suggested that maybe we should end things and see if we really want to be together.”

              “That seems a bit backwards, but I can see what you’re getting at.”

              “Well, we’ve been together our whole lives, and I don’t want Hajime to get ten years down the line and wonder what if he had missed anything by not dating anyone else.” The shift was minute, but the corners of Oikawa’s eyes tightened. “He said it was stupid, in that eloquent way of his, but I insisted. Self-preservation after all these years, I guess.”

              He turned when Hanamaki threw an arm around his shoulders. “It’ll be fine. It always is with you two.”

              “I hope so, Makki. I love my other, grumpier half, despite how much I make fun of him.” Oikawa took a long drag of his overly caffeinated, overly sweetened cheat drink, closing his eyes.

              “We know, and so does he.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me on [tumblr](http://gnetophyta.tumblr.com)!


	7. there's so much to dream about

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One step forward, two steps back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you so much for going on this angst-filled adventure with me! Your comments bring me a lot of joy, especially when you're yelling at me (I love you all).
> 
> Come and yell at me on [tumblr!](http://gnetophyta.tumblr.com)

A few weeks later, Makki found himself at a standoff: there was someone sitting at the usual table at the usual time. He stood near her in a very passive aggressive manner, holding a large mug of coffee and his laptop tucked under one arm. She gracefully brushed her long, dark brown hair off of her shoulder, seemingly oblivious to Hanamaki’s attempts to communicate telepathically. Nearly five minutes of silence passed.

“Would you like to sit down, or are you going to stand there all night?” The woman turned her head slowly to make eye contact. Makki leaned back in surprise, but caught himself before he gave too much away.

“Well, I was hoping this seat would be free.” He recovered, smirking like his life depended on it.

“You do realize there are three spots besides the one I’m in?” Her smirk challenged his, a well-manicured eyebrow arching impressively. Hanamaki wasn’t one to give in to a challenge.

“But you’re in _mine_.” It came out as a petulant whine, completely undermining the cool front he had attempted to cultivate over his many years of life. She turned her head back to a chemistry textbook, resting her chin in her hand.

“That’s too bad, isn’t it?” Without moving her head in the slightest, she threw another challenging glance at Hanamaki. He narrowed his eyes, then placed his laptop on the table next to hers much too roughly. “Easy, tiger, you’re going to break your shiny little toy.” Hanamaki slammed his mug down on the table, still glaring at the admittedly gorgeous woman in _his_ seat. Some of the coffee in the mug sloshed out over his hand, burning as it ran over his skin. Takahiro scowled, refusing to admit defeat, even if he had to ignore what felt like a second-degree burn.

“You should probably run that hand under cold water.” She suggested, looking down at the reddening skin with some concern.

“I will do what I please.” Makki opened his laptop, fingers dripping coffee, and began writing his assignment. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the woman _giggling_ behind her hand, still looking at him with her eyes crinkled in delight. “What?”

“You have to be in pain.”

“I’m fine.”

“Seriously, go run it under cold water.”

“No.”

“Don’t, then.”

“I won’t.” Hanamaki held eye contact as he put in his headphones, then turned to his laptop and turned the music up. Feeling victorious, he watched his irritating seatmate stand and walk over to the bathroom. It would have been a lie to say that he hadn’t considered drawing a dick in her textbook, but the more rational part of his brain had overridden that impulse almost as quickly as it had come. She returned carrying a wet paper towel, which she laid across the burning skin of Takahiro’s hand. Puzzled, he looked over at her, trying not to look too relieved at the blessed relief. He rubbed at the skin absently, scrutinizing her smile.

“I didn’t put anything on the towel. It’s not poisoned, I promise.”

“How am I supposed to know that?” Hanamaki was vaguely aware of the fact that he was behaving like a thirteen-year-old boy and progressively getting younger, but he was too wrapped up in the fact that this _person_ had disturbed his ritual. _His_ ritual.

“Do you think I carry small vials of poison in my back pocket so that when cute idiots burn themselves, I can, quite literally, kill them with kindness?” A small voice in the back of Makki’s head registered that she had called him cute, but the rest of his brain launched headfirst into a sass assault.

“You never know with the chemistry students. You’re all very suspicious.” Her laugh was much gentler than her razor-sharp wit, and despite himself, Makki was a little taken by her charm and uncanny familiarity.

“Well, they do teach us how to make meth in our second year. At least we have a backup plan in case we don’t get work after we graduate.”

“The manufacture of illicit drugs is a noble enough profession. So.”

“Plus, the hours are more flexible,” She mused, absentmindedly sticking a page marker in her textbook. “Unlike you. Have you really never had anyone sit in your spot before?”

“Listen. My friends and I always sit here, and no, nobody has ever had the audacity to sit in my spot before.”

“Ooh, showing off your vocabulary now, huh?” Her smile rose further and further up her cheeks, one side more so than the other.

“I-” Hanamaki was speechless. Rational thought processes would have suggested that he ask the woman for her name, at the very least, in hopes of establishing some form of connection. “I’m not having any of your attitude.”

Gazing at him from beneath half-lidded eyes, she quipped, “You’re smiling, though.”

“I am not!” Casually pressing his knuckles into his cheeks, he attempted to refute the statement. The charming stranger laughed again, and that was all it took for Makki to tumble at her feet.

“Nakamura Momo.” Momo extended a slender hand in Takahiro’s direction, a charm bracelet jangling pleasantly as it slipped down her arm. Despite the fact she gave off the impression of delicacy, her handshake was firm. Hanamaki mentally awarded her a few points.

“Hanamaki Takahiro.”

“Well, Hanamaki-san, then, it was a pleasure meeting you. I have to go to a group meeting back on campus now, so you can have your seat back. I’ve pre-warmed it and everything!” Momo threw her hair into a loose bun, then bent over to scrawl something onto a post-it.

“It was nice meeting you too-” She scooped up her textbook, then affixed the bright pink sticky note to Hanamaki’s chest. “Um?” Momo grinned broadly and headed for the door, leaving Makki to watch the rhythmic swaying of her narrow hips. The post-it fluttered down to the table while he continued to stare unabashedly. There was a phone number on the paper, barely legible, next to what may have been a smiling piece of poo or an ice cream cone. The jury was still out on that one, but smiling poo or not, Makki was grinning like a fool.

 

 

 

On their third date, Takahiro and Momo had run into Tooru and Hajime. They had all enjoyed an impromptu hangout at the café, and several hours later, Momo had excused herself to go finish some homework. The moment she was out of earshot, Tooru and Hajime rounded on Takahiro, leaning in over the table. Their startling synchronicity had not lessened post-breakup.

“You’re kidding, right?” Iwaizumi deadpanned, eyes very nearly expressionless.

“What do you mean?” Makki leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms, brow furrowed.

“Makki, please tell me that you have noticed the-uncanny, shall I say- resemblance?” Tooru slurped down his drink in earnest while staring unblinkingly at Hanamaki.

“What the shit are you two talking about?” Makki harrumphed, for once not playing the fool. He honestly had no idea what his friends were talking about.

“Momo-chan.”

“What, do you not like her?” Not that Oikawa and Iwaizumi had ever really been ones to lie, but the truth was a bit harsh considering Hanamaki really liked this girl. He had finally decided to try to get over his completely unavailable best friend and move on with his life, and here they were, judging.

“No, Makki. She’s great! She’s really, really great. Just- familiar.”

“Oikawa, stop beating around the bush.” Iwaizumi chided.

“Okay. Makki. Have you noticed something about her face that is very _striking_?”

“For those of you that exclusively like the dick, let me inform you that she is gorgeous.” Takahiro was starting to get frustrated with how indirect Tooru was being.

“That’s not the problem. She is gorgeous, but doesn’t she remind you of someone?” Tooru tapped one finger on his chin thoughtfully, eyes sliding from Makki to Hajime and back.

“She looks like the girl I’m seeing.”

“Hanamaki, her eyebrows are huge.” Iwaizumi sat back, having said his piece. He had no patience for waiting for oblivious Hanamaki to figure out that he had somehow managed to woo what appeared to be Matsukawa’s female twin.

“Are they?”

“You’re blind.” Iwaizumi leaned forward once again, looking incredulously at Hanamaki.

“Makki, Iwa-chan’s right.” Tooru added quietly, filling the lull in conversation with obnoxious slurping sounds as he tried to finish his drink. Takahiro took pause, visualizing Momo. Yes, her eyebrows were fuller than the average girl around campus, and yes, she did have a sleepy look about her, but that was where the similarities ended. “She has _generous_ eyebrows, sleepy eyes, a wicked sense of humour, curly dark hair and she always looks like she’s pouting ever-so-slightly.”

“Oikawa, you’re being ridiculous.”

“Makki.”

“Oikawa.”

“ _Makki_.” A very pregnant silence ensued.

“Fuck.” The sound of Makki’s head hitting the table made a few people around them jump.

 

 

            “Have you gone to the gym?” Ichiro called, head poking into the bedroom. Matsu was curled up in his covers, laptop perched on his knees with a leather notebook open by his right hand. When he saw the shock of blond hair appear, Issei startled, hastily shutting the book.

            “Oh,” He began, smiling to match Ichiro, “no, I haven’t. I was thinking about it, but then I remembered I liked blankets better. So.”

            “Where did you get that from?”

            “Where did I get what from?” Matsu sat up, shutting the computer in his lap.

            “You’ve been saying that a lot. ‘So.’”

“Have I?”

“It doesn’t sound like you.” Ichiro strolled into the bedroom and stood by Matsu, gently rubbing his shoulder.

“Hm, I’ve never thought about it. Anyway. You going to the gym?” Issei pushed the laptop onto the bundle of covers, turning towards his boyfriend. Ichiro shook his head, tossing his hair out of his eyes.

“No, I’m not going to go unless you do!”

“It looks like we’re going to be hanging out here and not going to the gym, then!” Matsu grinned broadly, leaning in to place a kiss on Ichiro’s bicep.

“Ah, so you don’t want me to be healthy, either?” Matsu felt his boyfriend’s hand slip off his shoulders.

“You can go be a healthy adult. I’m going to keep writing whatever this mess is.”

“You don’t feel bad about taking me down with you?” Issei pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged them. Ichiro raised an eyebrow, and Matsu wasn’t sure how to react; he couldn’t tell whether he was in a teasing mood or not. Then again, Ichiro would flip between moods so fast that you could get whiplash from observing his face.

“If by taking you down, you mean encouraging relaxation with a blowjob, then yes.”

“Issei, you’ll feel better if you go, and so will I. Come on.” Ichiro insisted, extending an open hand towards Issei.

“I’m tired, though. You can go, really.” Matsu scowled when Ichiro tugged at his elbow.

“Come on!”

“No, I really don’t want to!” Matsu pulled his arm from Ichiro’s grip and scooted over in the bed. “Just go, okay? Don’t make me feel bad because I don’t want to.”

“Fine, I won’t go. We’ll just both be unhealthy then.” Issei sat alone in the bedroom for the next hour, trying to focus on his writing, but the guilt was burning a hole in him. His chest felt uncomfortably tight, and waves of cold sweat would course through his body just when he thought he was right in not going. They always ended up the same, these arguments. Issei felt like the worst boyfriend in the world for starting them, thinking he was right, then slowly coming to terms with the fact that he was just being selfish. All Ichiro wanted was for him to feel better, and _be_ better, and Issei repaid his kindness with backtalk and anger. He apologized too much, but never changed to fix anything; Ichiro was right about that, and yet he stayed. Matsu owed him a lot for his endless patience and forgiving nature, and he hoped that Ichiro would never get sick of him.

Matsu entered the living room and sat next to his boyfriend, looking as apologetic and regretful as a person could.

“I’m so sorry.” The words always had a habit of catching on his tongue.

 

 

            **_Happy birthday, nerd._**

_thanks_

_(bigger nerd)_

Makki’s thumb hovered over the keyboard and he wondered whether he should ask Matsu to lunch. He thought better of it in case Ichiro read his texts again.

           

            **_Do you have time for me to take you out for dessert today?_**

****

Not thinking twice about seeming desperate, Makki responded, lightning-fast.

 

            _yeah_

_i guess i could clear out my packed social calendar for you_

**_Great. I can’t wait._ **

****

****

 

“I _can’t_.” Makki’s voice was strained, his knuckles white from gripping the bar.

“Shut up and do another.”

“Iwazu-“

“Shut up and do. Another.” There wasn’t enough strength left in Makki’s body to frown, let alone squat again, but Iwaizumi’s glare somehow forced his muscles into submission for another rep.

After their workout, he had barely wobbled into the change room after a snickering Iwaizumi, who only seemed to be more amused by Makki’s dry heaving in the bathroom.

Hajime tapped the door of the bathroom stall. “You realize we did more weight in high school than what you just did?” Takahiro moaned pitifully, the sound reverberating off the tile surrounding them both.

“Yes. But I didn’t have to do five thousand reps in high school, you asshole.”

“You did them yourself. I didn’t make you do anything.” It was probably Iwaizumi’s smugness that made Hanamaki throw the door open and punch him in the arm. The gesture was lost on Hajime, who guffawed at how weak the punch was, then at Takahiro’s pallor. “Here, drink this.” Makki lifted a droopy hand to grab the protein shake, still burning holes in Iwaizumi’s head with his eyes.

“It better be chocolate.”

“No, the brown means shit flavor, Hanamaki.”

“Fuck off, Satan.” Makki dragged his numb body towards his locker, followed by the echoes of Iwaizumi’s booming laugh.

 

 

**_Hey, how are Iwa and Oikawa doing?_ **

_did you lose their numbers_

**_No. But how awkward is it to text them and ask them if their breakup is going well?_ **

_i guess thats a good point_

_theyre weird_

**_How surprising._ **

_well theyll go two weeks without talking_

_then ill run into them hanging out like nothing had happened_

_i think theyre too dense to realize that this is an exercise in futility_

**_Again, surprising._ **

_right_

_bless their special little hearts_

_oh hey_

_its midnight_

**_And?_ **

**_Are you gonna get mad at me for staying up again, you hypocrite?_ **

_no you twat_

_happy birthday_

**_Holy shit, it is._ **

_did you actually forget_

**_Kinda, yeah._ **

**_What with Ichiro’s graduation coming up and all these essays…_ **

Makki’s heart did a funny little flutter recalling how Matsu was still the first person to wish him a happy birthday, sending a message before his girlfriend did.

 

 

They looked absolutely perfect together in Ichiro’s graduation photos, Makki thought, browsing Facebook with Oikawa. To any outsider, you’d think they were made for each other, but Tooru and Takahiro knew better.

“I think I need to talk to Matsu.” Tooru sighed heavily, absentmindedly stirring his tea with a spoon.

“About what?”

“Well, I was watching an episode-“

“So help me God, if you say Ancient Aliens-”

“No! I’m being serious, Makki. Be quiet for a second, okay?” The smile faded from Tooru’s face in a split second, overtaken by a frightening darkness. Hanamaki tried his best to ignore the harsh plummet of his stomach. “They mentioned something about emotional abuse and a lot of the signs were eerily similar to the things that Matsu’s told us about. I’m really worried, Makki. Really worried.”

“So am I, Oikawa.”

“I think I’m going to talk to him about it soon.”

“Yeah. That’s probably a good idea.”

“I think so.” Tooru and Takahiro gazed out the window, watching the sakura petals dance on the breeze. That year, it just didn’t relax them like it normally would have.

 

 

 

“You talk about Matsu a lot, Takahiro! When do I finally get to meet your best friend, hm? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were hiding me from him.” Momo teased, nudging Takahiro and curling her fingers around his. He responded in kind, but fumbled for a response.

“He’s just really busy. I really do want you to meet him, though, I promise.”

“Good, because I don’t think it’s fair to keep my sparkling wit hidden from your closest friends.” Hanamaki kissed the smile off her face, pulling her closer to him.

“At least I don’t have to worry about him falling in love with you.”

“How disappointing. I guess I’m stuck with you, then!” She giggled, taking Makki’s face in her soft hands and pecking him on the nose. He shrugged, nuzzling her cheek.

“You know, I’m no Matsu, but I have the occasional redeeming quality.”

“Oh really? That’s news to me.” Hanamaki scowled and Momo only laughed harder. She cuffed him on the shoulder and dragged them off towards the restaurant.

 

 

 

There was nothing more ominous than seeing Oikawa without a smile on his face. Whether real or fake, it was omnipresent, save for when Matsu saw him approaching that morning. The city was humid and insufferably hot to boot, the early morning sun already burning Matsu’s skin. Oikawa smelled of sunscreen, undoubtedly having prepared for the scorching summer sun better than Matsu had.

“Hey, Oikawa.”

“Hi, Matsu! I thought meeting up early would be a good idea, but it looks like the weather is already really muggy.” Matsu couldn’t read the expression on Tooru’s face; it was in part apologetic and regretful, but the rest he couldn’t interpret. Nervousness pricked his chest.

“It’s fine. I’m used to being perpetually damp, and not in a sexy way.”

“Where do you want to go have coffee?” The abrupt change in conversation just added to the discomfort Matsu was feeling; the tension between them was palpable. Matsu wondered whether it was just because they hadn’t seen each other in awhile, or whether he had accidentally done or said something wrong. He mentally raced through their recent conversations, filtering through to hopefully locate what he could have possibly said to upset his friend. Maybe he had teased him too much? Maybe he had taken too long to respond?

“Matsu?” Oikawa put a hand on Matsu’s shoulder.

“Hm?” He extracted himself from his frantic analysis and looked down at Oikawa.

“Where do you want to go?”

“Oh. Anyplace is fine. I just need a drink really badly.”

“Sure. Do you want to just go to the café?”

“Yeah, that works.”

Whatever Issei had been expecting once they arrived, it sure as hell hadn’t been what came out of Tooru’s mouth. Oikawa had pulled what appeared to be a folded printout from the pocket of his shorts and pushed it across the table with trembling hands.

“I don’t really know how to start with this, Issei. Before you read it, I just want to let you know that I care about you. A lot. And-” Issei had already read the title, and looked up at Tooru, unsure how to feel. He considered betrayal, anger, and bitterness, but they were hard to hold onto when he saw the pained look in Tooru’s eyes.

“This isn’t just you, is it?” Matsu waved the paper, nervous sweat prickling at his lower back and down his spine. The nausea was creeping up on him slowly. Oikawa hesitated.

“I mean, we’re all worried, but I’m the only one that went and did research on it.” His brown eyes flicked repeatedly to the right of Matsu, and he kept shaking his leg beneath the table. He was lying, and badly.

“This is-“ Matsu sighed deeply, scanning over a list of indicators of emotional abuse. “You’re serious?”

Tooru’s response was meek. “Yes.”

“You’re actually serious about calling my boyfriend abusive.”

“Yes.” Tooru cleared his throat and nodded. “I know it’s hard to hear, but I really want the best for you, Issei. Please understand that.”

“I’m finding it hard to, Tooru.” Issei folded the paper and slipped it in his jeans, blinking away the beginnings of a tension headache. He found it hard to maintain eye contact with Tooru because every time he looked back, Issei saw deeper lines and darker under eye circles.

“Just- will you read the whole thing?” Tooru sounded hopeful.

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Matsu got to his feet, looking at his friend one last time. He could understand concern, but he didn’t know Ichiro. He didn’t know. “I just don’t think you understand what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t need to go.”

“I really do. I’m sorry.” Matsu left the café, his chest tight and stomach squirming unpleasantly. Through the window of the building, he saw Oikawa bury his face in his hands, and a part of him cracked a little.

Matsu sat on his kitchen floor that afternoon, staring off into space, the sheets Oikawa had given him crumpled in his fist. He had skimmed all three pages and come to the conclusion that he just did a terrible job of presenting his boyfriend to his friends. None of the items on the list applied. Well, some did, but he kicked himself mentally for even considering such a thing. Nobody’s perfect, but a lot of the items on the list were vague and could apply to a variety of situations. His relationship was just fine and he was happy. I’m happy, he repeated, wiping his eyes with the hem of his shirt.

 

 

 

On a wonderfully sunny day in late September, Tooru had come by Hanamaki's apartment to catch up on his life. Oikawa sat down opposite Makki on the couch, tucking his feet under himself. Makki was draped over his side of the aptly named blue monstrosity, a granola bar dangling from one hand.

"Have you spoken to Iwa-chan this week?" Tooru asked, fidgeting with the mankey charm on his phone.

"Yeah, went to the gym on Monday, why?" Hanamaki knew exactly why, and rolled his eyes when Oikawa tried to convince him otherwise.

"I was just wondering." Turning away from Takahiro with a carefully neutral expression on his face, Tooru busied himself with the label on his water bottle.

"Why don't you just fucking talk to him, Oikawa? It's not like pretending you don't know each other half the time was part of the arrangement." After about six months of Oikawa and Iwaizumi using him as a middleman, Hanamaki was getting fed up.

"I can't just call him, Makki!" Tooru looked scandalized by the suggestion. Hanamaki prepared to repeat his most used phrase yet again.

"Oikawa. He is still your best friend. You're just not dating anymore. Talk. To. Him. He's just as pathetic as you are right now."

"I'm sure Iwa-chan is doing just fine." He flipped his hair, acting nonchalant, like Hanamaki couldn't read his stress like a book.

"Iwa-chan misses you too, you little shit. Go call him, or something. It'll make his day."

"What if he's with someone?"

"He will pick up anyway, like he's always done." Hanamaki's tone was progressing from comforting to irritated more quickly than normal, but he wasn't feeling like coddling Oikawa while he was in a mood.

"What if-"

"Oikawa. Listen to me for a fucking second, okay? I am and have been trying to be a good friend and listening to you and Iwaizumi pine for each other from a distance for months now. I get what you're doing and I think it's a very valid idea, but I have just about had it with being your go-between. I listen to the both of you all the fucking time, and honestly, neither of you listen to me. You're just telling me what you want to tell the other, and ignoring what I say if it's not what you wanted to hear. I wanna hear about your lives outside of your pining. It's fine, you love each other, but it is making me insane having to worry about the two of you being weird and sad in addition to coping with the fact that my best friend, who is coincidentally also the man I am in love with, now has the most alarmingly dead eyes when I talk to him. Which is also approximately NEVER. He looks broken all the time, and I hurt thinking about him and you and Iwaizumi and I've replaced my drinking with more carbs and I'm gaining weight and my experiment is a disaster and my mom and sister are worried about me, which makes me more upset and holy SHIT, I am so done with dealing with everything. And I know your relationship with Matsu is fucked up too now, so it’s just- I don’t know what to do. I love you like a brother, but I just want to strangle you right now. I know Iwaizumi would tear me limb from limb, so I won't but-" At some point during his monologue, Takahiro had gotten to his feet and begun gesturing wildly at a startled Tooru. Winded and more than a little regretful for having told Tooru off, he opened his mouth to apologize. Before he had a chance to say anything, Oikawa had thrown his arms around him and was clutching him tightly to his chest. Takahiro sagged in his embrace, hanging on to the folds in his sweater for dear life. He could hear Oikawa muttering a soft apology into his hair, stroking his back, and the affectionate gesture was making Hanamaki teeter towards a complete breakdown.

"Stop touching me, you dork, I'll start crying." He swatted Tooru away, taking a step back and clearing his throat.

"Maybe you need some catharsis in your life, Makki. Don't think that we don't think and worry about you. I'm just sorry it doesn't seem like it because we've gotten so wrapped up in our own drama."

"I'm sorry. I know, and I shouldn't have unloaded on you-" Oikawa shook his head, putting a hand on Hanamaki's shoulder and squeezing.

"I'm happy you did, but don't wait so long to say something in the future, please." It was this Oikawa that Hanamaki wished everyone knew. The honest, big-hearted, caring Oikawa, who would gladly give anything for the people he cared about, not the gaudy, faux persona he thought he needed to show to the world in order to get ahead. "Besides, you can't have me getting upset like this. I don't want the volleyball magazines have to Photoshop out wrinkles~" Ending the conversation with a coy wink, Tooru gracefully disappeared into Hanamaki's bedroom.

"That doesn't mean I'll sleep with you, though. I'm not that desperate!" Takahiro called out after him, smirking when the jab achieved its desired effect. Oikawa huffed, parading out of Hanamaki's room carrying a duffel bag and a wad of clothes. He flung the clothing at Hanamaki's chest and stood impatiently before him, hands on his hips.

"Get changed!"

"Why?"

"Get changed, or Oikawa-san will send Iwa-chan after you!" Tooru sing-songed, tapping his foot.

"You'd have to talk to him to sic him on me."

"So rude!"

"Am I wrong?" Hanamaki changed into his too-tight Seijou shorts and a loose shirt while Oikawa made a series of indignant noises.

"Grab your keys and let's go!" Hanamaki walked out of the apartment, carrying his duffel. "Makki, my, your butt has really filled out your shorts! I see now how you managed to snatch up your lovely lady!"

"I feel like a sausage in a casing."

"Lock your door, we're leaving, sausage-kun."

"When did you develop a sense of humour?"

"I've always been delightfully witty!"

"Whoever told you that was lying through their teeth."

"Mean!!" 

Truth be told, Makki felt like he had embraced an old friend when he had tied his court shoes and grabbed a volleyball. It was the comfort of familiarity, of practiced motions and of remembered camaraderie; these were the things he hadn't even been aware he was missing. He and Oikawa started with a slow jog around the gym, chatting and playfully shoving one another. They took their time in warming up, more for Hanamaki's rusty sake than for Oikawa's, though he was the one that needed to keep himself in peak condition for when the scouts came calling.

Hanamaki bent over to tie his shoe after his warm-up, and when he looked up, he saw a familiar pair of Asics and bare knees. A grin split his face before he even had a chance to see the rest of Matsukawa. He bumped his best friend, nearly knocking him over in his excitement.

"Did Oikawa plan this?" He asked, scanning the gym for Tooru.

"No, I actually ran into Iwaizumi in the change room. I think it was one of those strange coincidences." Matsukawa punched Hanamaki in the arm, wanting nothing more than to hug him, his smile a mile wide.

"Ah, look, they're flirting awkwardly." Hanamaki stepped closer under the pretense of needing to point out Iwaizumi and Oikawa, who were the only other people in the gym. The irony of the statement escaped both him and Matsukawa. He leaned into Issei's personal space again, pinching a pronounced collarbone.

"What the hell is this, Matsu?"

"Part of my skeleton, Makki."

"Don't sass me, jackass. Have you been eating?"

"Yeah, I've just been stressed. I guess it's been making me lose weight. Your butt's filled out wonderfully in the last few months, though!"

"You and Oikawa are both assholes. Is it really that noticeable?" Hanamaki cranked his neck to check out his own ass, but came up empty.

"Only to those that have seen you in those shorts before. Don't worry about it, it's definitely a good thing." Matsukawa finished sheepishly, staring at the floor.

"Are you telling me my ass was sub-par before?" Hanamaki teased, but Matsukawa did not rise to the bait, laughing on his way over to Iwaizumi and Oikawa. Hanamaki ran after him, skidding to a stop by Iwaizumi.

"Iwaizumi. I need your professional opinion." Takahiro had no patience for his two friends finishing their awkward reunion when he had such an important matter to discuss.

"For what?" Predictably, Iwaizumi was expecting something fundamentally inane.

"Look." Hanamaki turned around, lifting his shirt to give Hajime an unobstructed view of his derriere.

"Well, you haven't shit yourself if that's what you're wondering, but did you take Oikawa's shorts?"

"No! These are mine!"

"Huh. Your ass looks bigger."

"Goddamnit!" Hanamaki stormed off to the court, angrily grabbing a ball on the way. Iwaizumi was puzzled, looking to Oikawa and Matsukawa for an explanation.

"He's going to be so salty about that now, Iwaizumi." Matsukawa noted, chuckling.

"I never said it was bad!"

"I think the booty suits him. Don't you think, Matsu?"

"Oh yeah. He's giving you a run for your money, Iwaizumi." They all nodded sagely, watching Makki work his frustrations out on the poor volleyball.

  

They set up a two on two game while they waited for other players to join them in the gym, pairing Oikawa with Iwaizumi and Matsukawa with Hanamaki. Team Dirty Balls (Matsukawa and Hanamaki) called serve first, hoping they could get a leg up on team Sets on the Beach, and delineated the shorter court before starting. The match was pandemonium; it was all trash talk with a side of high-class volleyball, and all four men were loving it. They settled back in their team dynamics quickly, only opposite the net, and they were sweating by the time the first ten points had been played. Hanamaki came up to serve for the second time and did his pre-serve ritual.

"I like big butts and I cannot lie..." Matsukawa sang quietly, and Oikawa nearly choked on his tongue when Hanamaki nailed his teammate in the back of the head with a serve.

"Matsu, you're a jackass!" He called, angry that he had missed his serve, but angrier still that the other three were doubled over with laughter. "We're on the same team! You're supposed to mess with Oikawa and Iwaizumi!"

"I'm sorry, it was just too good!" Staggering to the baseline, Oikawa lined up the ball, still giggling, tossing it for an easy overhand serve. Hanamaki dug in and received it, sending it right into Matsukawa's waiting hands. He gave him a high, arcing set to give Hanamaki time to jump, but the hit was a mess.

"So, I can't jump anymore." Hanamaki lamented, smacking away Matsukawa's high five.

"It's okay, you can just ass me to set you lower."

"I'm going to murder you." Hanamaki glared over Matsukawa's shoulder at Iwaizumi and Oikawa, who were clutching each other.

"It's okay, Makki. Butt...you should do more plyo!" Matsu and Iwaizumi chortled at Oikawa's pun.

"You guys are a real pain in the-" Takahiro paused, bracing himself for the trap he had walked into. It was a brief moment of silence as his friends tried to be good people, but it didn't last long; the hysterical laughter echoed in the practice gym, making it sound like they were B-movie villains. Hanamaki hung his head in defeat while they cried tears of mirth and gasped for air. "Why are we friends? I'm serious. I'm quitting the squad."

Matsu's voice rose an octave as he tried to squeeze a sentence out between peals of laughter. "Please don't leave us...behind!"

"It would dev...ass...tate us, Hanamaki." Iwaizumi was leaning on the net pole, struggling to support shaking Oikawa's dead weight.

"We hate when you leave, but we love to watch you go!" Matsukawa drove the final nail into his own coffin, and fell to his knees, struggling to breathe. Hanamaki dove at his friend, though he hadn't the faintest idea of what to do once he had tackled him to the floor. Issei's face was beet red, grinning broadly, tears running down the sides of his face. Takahiro was straddling his hips, trying to tickle him, but seeing Matsu's eyes shining with joy for the first time in months stopped him dead in his tracks. Hanamaki smiled down at Matsukawa, then got to his feet.

"You're lucky you're my best friend and also, I don't want to end up in prison."

"Yeah, you'd be fucked if you dropped the soap!" Issei breathed out and Iwaizumi yelled "literally" before losing control again. It was at that moment that several other players arrived in the gym. They found Makki trying to put Matsu into a chokehold, and Iwaizumi and Oikawa hanging on to a net pole, fighting to regain their faculties. One   of the taller new players approached Oikawa to ask him if they wanted to set up a game, and Tooru had to put his back to him to calm himself. He took several deep breaths before replying with a simple "of course," but seeing Takahiro bent over in the corner of his eye was simply too much for him to keep a straight face. The newcomer walked away from Oikawa, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

Once cooler heads had prevailed, the ex-Seijou players had grabbed two of the taller newcomers and formed a fairly solid team. They played for hours, easily falling back into old routine and routing the opposing team. They horsed around in between points, but were nothing short of focused during the plays; four years had not been enough for their muscles to forget the orchestra they had been at Seijou. 

Oikawa called the final set, announcing he was buying his wonderful teammates ramen once they were done. In a repeat of a similar situation, Matsukawa yelled his order out first, followed by Iwaizumi and Hanamaki, all four smiling brightly at the memory.

They were all four lined up at the ramen stand, praising Oikawa for his terrifying improvement as a player, noting how much more apparent his skill was when they were playing as opposed to watching. Makki teased Tooru for his embarrassed blush, pulling him into a side armed hug. Iwaizumi's compliments served only to make him blush more deeply, and Matsukawa just watched his three friends being aggressively supportive, a serene smile on his face. He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed that much, or felt that light. He knew these three, his favourite people, were men he would give anything for, and despite their recent distance, especially with Oikawa, he knew they would do anything for him. Matsu spaced out with his chin in his hand, enjoying being in the background of the Iwaizumi and Oikawa spectacle, thankful for one afternoon harkening back to the days when everything was simpler.

"Hey," Hanamaki nudged Matsukawa's nearly full bowl with his chopsticks. "You've hardly eaten. You okay?"

"Actually, yeah." Issei swirled the noodles in his bowl thoughtfully, then lifted his head to smile softly at Takahiro. "This was the most fun I've had in a really long time. I'm really glad the universe threw us together today." Hanamaki mirrored his smile, gently bringing their foreheads together.

"Me too. It's weird without you, Matsu."

"Yeah, well."

"I mean, you live with him now and school sucks, so I get why you're not around. I'm not trying to make you feel bad."

"You're all in your last year too, and you still find time to see each other. I've just been, I don't know. I feel like I'm missing out."

"All you've missed is Oikawa and Iwaizumi failing at being broken up, me crying over failed lab experiments and me also developing an unhealthy obsession with that bakery down the street from my apartment. And Nutella." Hanamaki omitted mentioning his girlfriend.

"Their cream puffs must be amazing."

"You have NO idea. We need to go there. Right now, if possible. Idiot squad, we're going to get dessert at that place I love after this." Iwaizumi and Oikawa eagerly assented, then resumed their conversation. "So that's that. How's your writing been going?"

"I have way too much to write for school as it is, let alone anything else."

"Eh, there's no rush. Besides, you'll always have a futon in my hypothetical future apart-mansion of science if you need a place to live or write. I'm sure my seventy-five cats will share the space willingly. Although, there will be one who will be an asshole, and I'll name him after you. He'll be all black and fuckin' huge and fluffy." Matsukawa chuckled.

"I'm touched, really," he said drily.

"I'm nothing if not generous."

"What about your future husband or wife? Are they going to want to deal with a homeless writer in their home?"

"Pff, any human I marry will be okay with this. By the way, you'll pay for rent with sexual favours."

"I will be an actual prostitute, then?"

"But with partial ownership of my cats and home."

"Can you even have three people on a mortgage?"

"Who's the third person?"

"Your hypothetical future husband or wife?"

"Oh, uh yeah."

"Makkiiiii~" Saved by Tooru.

"Yes, Satan?" Hanamaki turned to Oikawa. "Oh, it's just you, Oikawa."

"Just for that, you're buying your own dinner!"

"How many ass jokes did you say during the three hours we were playing?"

"Makki, how many cream puffs do you want today?"

"That's more like it."

"Can we go get dessert now? My coach has been so restrictive with our diets and I need some sugar!"

"If your coach said it was good for-"

"Come on, Iwaizumi. Indulge your future husband, for once." Matsukawa chided.

"Yeah, Iwaizumi. Indulge your future husband." Hanamaki echoed.

"I've been doing that for 22 years. He'll survive another day without milk bread." Oikawa's ears were pink. "What?" Smiling warmly, Tooru shook his head.

On their way over to what Hanamaki had proclaimed the greatest bakery known to man, Matsu's phone went off no fewer than a dozen times. Hanamaki's eyes flicked to his pocket repeatedly, but Issei made no move to answer the phone, choosing instead to heckle Oikawa and Iwaizumi from behind them. It really had been an amazing afternoon and evening; they had all been able to break out of their suffocating school and life routines and enjoy a carefree Sunday together, laughing like they did when their worlds were younger.

Iwaizumi and Oikawa left after grabbing desserts, claiming they had a lot they needed to talk about. Matsu and Makki grinned lecherously in their wake.

“Oh yes. ‘Talking.’” Matsu and Makki made air quotes with their fingers, cackling with delight.

 

 

Makki’s eyes were closed, but all his other senses were heightened. The soft gasps above him, the sweat on his chest, the breaths escaping him heavily. It wasn’t long before the combined effect made the heat in the pit of his belly tip over the precipice and he came, moaning the name of the person that made him unravel. When he opened his eyes, he found Momo staring at him angrily.

“Did you just say ‘Issei?’” She accused, climbing off of him.

“Um.”

“Why did you just moan a _man’s_ name, Takahiro?”

“I-I don’t know.” Makki was panicking. Momo wrapped a sheet around herself and furrowed her brow.

“Would you rather I were a man?”

“No, Momo, I wouldn’t.”

“Then?”

“I don’t know. I honestly don’t know, I’m so sorry.” He hoped the lie would be enough.

“Not that I’m surprised.” She began, and Makki felt a cold sweat erupt from his skin. “You’ve done stranger things, after all.” He exhaled slowly, chuckling to dissipate the tension.

“I have, haven’t I?”

“You’re a very charming dork, but don’t go moaning other names than mine, you hear?” She pinched his cheeks, quirking up a corner of her generous lips.

“I promise I won’t.”

“Good. Let me know when you’re good to go again.”


	8. there must be more to my life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the more that things change, the more they stay the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [walks in fifteen years later with Starbucks]
> 
> ...so, I'm sorry for the massive delay. I'm currently a senior in engineering, so my life is 40000% school and this chapter kinda got shafted. My bad. The chapter count has also increased to 13 because I have gotten significantly more invested in this story than I had initially anticipated. Whoopsie! Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> ...and a thanks to my favourite beta/rage-filled cheerleader, pomelopasta. 
> 
>  
> 
> N.B. If you are at all triggered by anxiety attacks, you may want to exercise caution in reading the scene starting with "The only thing separating Matsukawa..."

Momo and Makki were standing outside of a shoe store one afternoon, admiring all the new arrivals. In reality, it was Momo admiring the new arrivals, and Makki was trying to figure out who on Earth would need a heel so big it looked like a pickaxe. Someone came up behind the both of them and placed a hand on Takahiro’s shoulder. He turned, startled, but a broad grin curled his mouth when he saw Issei’s face. The smile drooped slightly when he saw the mop of carefully positioned blonde hair not far behind.

             “Matsu! Ichiro.” He greeted, with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Matsu looked from Makki to the gorgeous brunette whose arm was linked with his.

             “Do I finally get to meet the infamous best friend, Takahiro?” Momo leaned into Makki’s side, looking up at him from beneath her long eyelashes and smiling. Matsu sported a puzzled look, his hands tucked into his jean pockets.

             “Oh yeah, sorry, Matsu, this is Momo-“

             “-his girlfriend, whom he conveniently forgets about-“ She laughed brightly, extending a gloved hand towards Matsukawa.

             “Nakamura Momo, pleased to meet you.”

             “Matsukawa Issei, pleased to meet you too.” Momo’s warm smile cooled off, the genuine expression closing off for a fraction of a second before snapping back.

             “Issei is such a nice name.”

             “Oh, thanks! I can’t say anyone’s complimented me on my name before. Oh, and that’s Taylor Ichiro behind me, my boyfriend.” Ichiro offered a perfunctory wave and resumed scrolling through his phone. Hanamaki was standing with a hand on Momo’s lower back, frozen in place because this wasn’t how he had meant for the two to meet.

             “Do you want to go grab lunch, Matsu? The four of us?” Matsu’s eyes flicked nervously to Ichiro and back.

             “I’d love to, but we- we should really head off.  We’ve got a lot of errands to run. Can we reschedule? I’d love to get to know anyone that’s managed to put up with Makki for more than twelve minutes.” Momo smirked at Issei.

             “I’m not a saint. We actually met eleven minutes ago. Takahiro, we’re only gonna be together for another sixty seconds, so you best make use of the best minute of your life-“ Makki made an indignant sound, crossing his arms grumpily.

             “Oh, this is good.“ Matsu snorted. “You need to stay around and just razz him for the next forever, if that’s okay. I’ve been looking for a partner in crime.”

             “Matsu! First of all-“ Momo put a hand on Makki’s face to stop him.

             “Takahiro, shh, the adults are making friends.” Hanamaki whined loudly behind Momo’s palm.

 

A half-hour later, Takahiro and Momo were seated at their favourite restaurant, slowly picking their way through their orders.

            “So, you failed to mention your best friend’s first name for a reason, huh?” Makki knew she was bringing this up in public so that she would be calmer, but the look in her eyes was anything but. He swallowed his mouthful of food, guilt written all over his face. “I’m a little mad, I’ll admit, but I would _really_ like for you to explain this before I overreact.”

            “Um,” Hanamaki began, directing his gaze at his near-empty plate instead of at Momo’s face, “Well, we’ve been best friends since the start of high school-“

            “Could you maybe discuss the part where you moaned your best friend’s name and perhaps,” She waved a hand around, “whether you’re even into women? Inquiring minds wish to know.” Takahiro hazarded a look up into her eyes, but he didn’t find what he expected there. Momo’s eyes were watering, and her lips were pressed into a taut line.

             “Ah, no, I like women. Buuut, I also- I like both. I mean. I like _you_ , more specifically. Matsu is- he’s been my best friend since our first year in high school, and I guess I always had a bit of a thing for him that I kinda assumed was part of friendship. I don’t know. I think about him a lot _because_ we’re friends, but also because I worry about him. That’s probably why I said his name.”

             “Oookay, and what does that mean for us?” Momo took a long, deep breath, and leaned forward in her seat, preparing for the worst.

             “I want to be with you. That’s it.” Hanamaki ran a hand through his hair and tried to hide the way his breath rattled in his lungs. The room was too hot, too stifling, and all he wanted was to just be eating dessert somewhere, laughing about nothing.

             “Are you sure?”

             “Yes. Positive.” Makki laced his fingers through hers on the table, gently rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb. “You’re not a replacement.”

             “Well, good, because I’m pretty awesome. Although it is a little disturbing that we have the same eyebrows, Takahiro. Mine are just trimmed.”

             Makki shrugged. “Same Neanderthal gene pool, I guess.” His girlfriend squeaked in affront.

             “At least nobody poured bleach into mine! I just know that you secretly long for thick, luxurious eyebrows that you can run your fingers through.”

             “That’s the most disturbing mental image in the world, Momo.”

             “That’s why I trim them. If I didn’t, I’d have modesty curtains for my face.”

             “Oh wow, please, keep going, I’m so aroused.” Momo tittered and stuck her tongue out at Takahiro.

             “Whatever, it’s not like you’re not gonna jump my bones when we get home.” She took her chopsticks in her free hand and stole a mushroom from Makki’s plate, popping it in her mouth with a smile. “But please. I’m a hundred percent in this relationship, Takahiro. If at any point you feel you can’t give me the same, I’d rather you end it than string me along.”

             “I know, and I promise I won’t do that to you.”

             “Okay, good. Dessert?”

 

 

 

**_Hey, asshole!_ **

****

Matsukawa had received a huge shock that morning in the form of Hanamaki’s girlfriend. It wasn’t that he was upset about him actually dating someone; he was heartbroken that Hanamaki hadn’t even mentioned that he had met her, let alone gone on a date. If he were to be completely honest with himself, the thought of someone else taking Makki’s attention from him wasn’t entirely pleasant. Matsu mentally scolded himself for thinking so selfishly and patiently waited for the quick text reply.

 

_hello best frond_

_**What am I, a fern?** _

_unlikely_

_ferns are smart_

**_How do you judge the intellect of a plant??_ **

_how am i supposed to know_

_im not in plant bio_

**_Sigh._ **

**_Oh, I just wanted you to know that Momo is great. It looks like she makes you happy._ **

_when shes not sassing me to the high heavens_

**_Don’t even act like you’re not into that._ **

_shut up_

_shes pretty great though_

**_Seems to be. How long have you been together?_ **

**_I don’t remember you mentioning her at all…_ **

****

There was a few minutes’ pause in reply.

 

_a few months i think_

_five_

**_That’s great!_ **

****

Matsukawa was relieved that Hanamaki wasn’t there in front of him because he knew he was doing a terrible job of hiding his emotions. Thankfully, over text, the right punctuation could hide whatever heartsickness was evident on his face. Hanamaki had been dating someone for several months, and had never even bothered to mention Momo even once. What was even worse was that Matsu felt a knot in his stomach when thinking about how charming and funny she was, how well she seemed to fit Makki.

  _yeah thanks_

_its going well_

_i just didnt want to say anything until i knew for sure_

_that wed be a thing_

_you know_

No, he didn’t know. Makki would have informed him of a loose thread in his favourite jeans, let alone a relationship. Matsu felt like he was fading into the background.

 

_in other news ive started ordering nutella on the internet_

**_Let me prepare my surprised face. It may take awhile…_ **

_i dont take kindly to your judgement_

**_I’m not judging._ **

_i can hear you judging_

**_Doing no such thing._ **

_if you happen to be dying in the future and the only cure is nutella_

_i will not give you any_

_you will die alone and nutella-less_

**_It’s a good thing I have Oikawa and Iwaizumi to watch my back in case this mysterious disease comes around._ **

_those traitors_

_undermining my authority_

**_Authority over what? Chocolate spreads?_ **

_if you must know_

_yes_

_the japanese government recently informed me that i was to become the official head of the nutella department_

**_Something about that strikes me as a lie. I can’t figure out which part, though._ **

_the part where someone gave me responsibilities_

**_Yes. That’s it._ **

_ill have you know that i am extremely competent at adulting_

**_Which one of us called the other asking for instructions for making rice?_ **

_fuck you_

**_Maybe later._ **

_i was 14_

_i can make rice just fine now_

**_And who taught you?_ **

_my mom_

_MY MOM._

**_Makki, your mom asked me to help you learn how to make rice._ **

_whatever_

_happy now_

**_When reminding you of your glaring culinary inadequacy? Always._ **

****

****

The tile was cool beneath his palm, the grout rough. Hanamaki hadn’t really expected to wake up so overwhelmed from a simple email, but here he was, sitting on his bathroom floor, struggling to function. He was due in the lab in forty-five minutes, but he couldn’t bring himself to change out of his pyjama bottoms. His thumb hovered over the call button on his phone, not knowing whether the person on the other end would judge him for the mess he had become. He pressed the green button anyway. 

Not long after, Momo stormed through the door carrying a small box and a bag from the pharmacy. Makki was had migrated to the living room floor and was sitting with his back against his couch.

            “I couldn’t decide whether food or sex would cheer you up faster so I have cream puffs and condoms. Take your pick! I mean, we could do both. Both is fine.” Her glib tone of voice didn’t match the worry in her eyes as she curled up against Makki’s side. She was warm against his clammy skin, and her fingers were gentle on his wrist.

            “Thanks.” He sighed, leaning his head on hers.

            “Anytime, handsome. You gonna be okay?” She turned her head to watch Takahiro’s face shift through a multitude of emotions.

            “Yeah, I think so. My supervisor emailed me saying he wants to meet today at noon and I’ve been freaking out over it. A lot. I don’t really know what I’m going to do after I graduate. I guess I assumed I’d go work but I haven’t applied for anything. I’ve just been sitting around, being useless.”

            “Didn’t you submit that grant proposal to work on a Master’s?” Hanamaki moved to clasp her hand in his.

            “I did, but just on a whim. Nothing’s going to come of that.”

            “Your optimism is inspiring. Maybe that’s what your professor wants to talk about today?” At the mere mention of the meeting he had in an hour, Hanamaki’s stomach lurched, and a fresh wave of nausea hit him. He paled.

            “Hah. I’m sure. Anyway, I think you mentioned something about cream puffs and _your_ cream puff.” Momo’s face contorted in disgust and Takahiro snorted.

            “Oh my God, Takahiro, if you’re trying to un-arouse me, you’re succeeding. Eat your damn food and I’ll have to think about giving you back sex privileges. ‘ _Your cream puff._ ” Who am I dating?” Hanamaki was still laughing as he chewed on his dessert.

            “You know you love me.” He batted his eyelashes at her, eyes scrunched up in amusement.

            “I think I do love you, yeah.” She smiled gently, and Takahiro blinked like a particularly startled owl. “You don’t have to say-“ Hanamaki took her face in his hands, turning so he could kiss the sweetness of the cream off her lips and whisper an ‘I love you too’ into the space between them.

 

That afternoon, Makki’s supervisor informed him that he would be getting a full scholarship and a grant to continue his work in the lab for the next two years. Momo nearly made his ears bleed with her excitement when he delivered the news.

 

 

The only thing separating Matsukawa and a diploma was a series of obnoxiously long papers, but to him, it seemed like so much more. He had been getting in his own way pretty effectively over the last year, and he was beginning to feel the consequences. Every sentence he wrote seemed too simple, or not concise enough. Every paragraph felt like a regression to high school, every page a mockery of the ‘writer’ he had become. He hadn’t even come close to meeting his goal of having a rough draft of his novel done by graduation because every time he had a spare moment, all he could do was sleep or sit and contemplate all the things he wasn’t doing. Matsu wasn’t sure why, but the only time he would ever feel mostly normal was when he was distracted; the moment he had any time to think, it felt like there was something coiling around his insides, squeezing and kneading. Ichiro attributed this, the constant headaches and complete lack of appetite to stress, and Matsu was inclined to agree. He had been overworking himself by constantly rewriting assignments and papers, cooking to make sure at least Ichiro was eating properly, and writing the occasional article for the school paper.

             Three weeks before graduation, Matsu was staring at the concluding paragraph on an essay blankly, having already rewritten it at least a dozen times. No matter what he did, it wouldn’t come out right. His worry began to stretch, and he thought of how he didn’t have a job or many prospects lined up. He wondered about his writing ability and whether he’d ever really be good enough to be paid for doing it, and what on Earth he could possibly do if he couldn’t do what he was passionate about? Was he even passionate about literature anymore? The further he dug into these thoughts, the harder he found it to breathe, and he nearly lost consciousness when he stood to get some water. He gripped the doorjamb with all of his strength, the oppressive weight on his chest heavier than ever, cold tendrils squeezing around his heart. He walked slowly and carefully across the living room and filled up a glass that he promptly set down in favour of clutching the countertop. His vision swam in and out of focus, and Matsu’s heartbeat echoed almost painfully in his ears. He panicked, completely unsure of what was happening to him, but he really didn’t want to go to the doctor. He couldn’t. He had too much writing to finish, and hardly any time as it was. Ichiro wasn’t going to be back from work for hours, and Matsu felt bad enough that his boyfriend took the time out of his workday to text and call him all the time. His chest began hurting worse when he sat down on the couch and dialed Makki.

            Matsu just wanted to talk, but Makki insisted on coming over because Matsu didn’t sound right to him. Hanamaki’s knowledge of the different tones of his voice was both a blessing and a curse; even if Matsukawa didn’t want to attract attention, Hanamaki would notice anyway. He nearly took the door down with the force of his knock, and rustled impatiently while Matsu slowly walked over. He wasn’t feeling as acutely awful as he had been when he called Hanamaki initially, but Matsukawa was still worse for wear with debilitating chest pain and a headache. When he opened the door, Hanamaki was chewing on one of his nails, hunched over in worry. His eyes lit up when Matsu smiled at him, however weakly.

              “You look like shit, Matsu.” Hanamaki quipped, though his tone was softer than usual.

              “That’s because I feel like shit,” Matsukawa made what he thought was a good effort at a carefree grin. Makki’s drawn brows informed him otherwise.

              “What’s going on?” Matsu ran a hand through his hair, pivoting to walk back into the living room.

              “I’m not sure. I mean- Well, _today_ -“

              “Wait, what do you mean _today_? There’s been other shit going on that you haven’t told me about? Matsu, come on! Stop shutting me out!” Makki had trouble standing in one place because he felt like he was burning with a nervous energy. Worry weighed heavy on his mind and limbs, but Hanamaki was ready to vibrate out of his skin.

              “Tell you like you told me about your _girlfriend_?” Matsu spat, swaying a little and blinking something invisible out of his eyes. Makki jerked forward to steady him.

              “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I wanted to wait for a good time.”

              “What’s a good time? After you’ve been together for a year? Five? Maybe when I get invited to a wedding? Do you even know what it feels like to be lied to by the only person you’ve relied on for being completely up-front and honest all the time? Do you?” The louder his voice went, the more Issei’s chest felt like it was contracting, squeezing the air out of his lungs. He promptly sat to hide how woozy he was, slamming his back against the front of the couch. He was so angry, and felt so betrayed.

              “I think I do.” Hanamaki’s arms dangled uselessly by his sides, and his voice was whisper-soft and completely devoid of all humour. Matsukawa looked up at him from his spot on the floor, not wanting to ask him to sit, but hoping he would. Even after everything, of course Takahiro sat, pressing himself to Issei’s side. Every inch of contact felt like it was draining the tension from Matsu’s muscles and he sighed deeply when his best friend patted his thigh. Matsu couldn’t explain how or why his headache had noticeably faded after sitting next to Makki for what seemed like seconds.

             “I’m sorry, Issei. I am. I don’t know why I didn’t tell you.”

             “No, I’m sorry. Yeah, I’m pretty hurt that you didn’t mention her, but I haven’t really been completely honest, either.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Hanamaki turn to him. “I haven’t really been sleeping or eating in the last little while because I’m really stressed, and I avoid talking to you because I know you can tell when I’m not doing well. And I’m not doing well. At all. I called you today after I started feeling weird- I’m not sure what it is, but I feel like I’m tired down to my bones, and my chest hurts, and I get these headaches- but today was the first time I nearly passed out from one, which I know sounds _terrible_ -“ Matsu looked over his arm at Makki, whose mouth was turned down at the corners.

             “Do you need me to drive you to the hospital?”

             “No, it’s not that bad.”

             “Are you sure?”

             “Yeah, I already feel better.”

             “Don’t lie to me.”

             “I’m not.” Matsukawa leaned his head on Hanamaki’s shoulder, exhaling in a stutter. “Being around you calms me down.”

             “Ah, so you’ve been having Makki withdrawals, I see. It’s my wit that you crave.”

             “More like your ass.”

             “You are a sack of dicks. Here, put your head on my thigh. I want to pet you like the asshole cat that you are.” Matsukawa complied, closing his eyes while Hanamaki stroked and played with his hair. “But really, what else is going on?”

             “Well, huh. Um, do you and Momo ever go for more than a week or so without sex?” Hanamaki laughed heartily. Matsu remained silent.

“Oh, ah, no. Why?”

“Ichiro and I haven’t slept together in a while.” Hanamaki barely heard the sentence.

“Wait, what is a while?”

“We’ve had sex maybe three times over the past year or so.”

“You’re kidding.” Matsu heard Makki exhale in a measured way, and knew that he was trying to calm down.

“I wish I were.”

“ _Why_?”

“I don’t know. He just- he says I don’t want it for the right reasons.”

“Matsu?”

“Yeah.”

“What the fuck? What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know. I never get a concrete answer when I ask.” Matsu opens his eyes a sliver and stares at the snowflakes on Makki’s socks. The earlier agony is gone, but he would almost prefer that over the emptiness that it left in its wake. He was assuming talking to Makki would make him feel better, but admitting that his relationship was less than perfect out loud made it more real.

“Who wouldn’t want to have sex with you?” Makki was incredulous.

“The man I’m dating.”

“Goddamnit.” A set of keys jangled in the outside hallway and Matsu sat bolt upright, fear written all over his face. He instantly broke out in a cold sweat, but his shoulders sagged in relief when he realized it was his next-door neighbor. “Issei. What has he done to you?” The dangerous edge in Hanamaki’s voice wasn’t something Matsukawa had experienced before.

“What? Nothing!” He countered, pleading desperately with his eyes.

“Why did you look so terrified, then?”

“I- He just really doesn’t like it when people are over unannounced.”

“Are you sure?”

“’Hiro, please. Yes. He doesn’t hurt me. You sound like Tooru.”

“Don’t break my heart like that. I’m nothing like Tooru, okay? I’m taller.”

“Just barely.” Matsukawa chuckled at Hanamaki’s tiny scowl.

“You’d tell me if something happened, right?”

“I wouldn’t be here if something like that happened.” Hanamaki took a good look at Matsukawa, in a way that he hadn’t in awhile, and he almost regretted doing so. Matsu was paler than he had ever seen, which brought the deep lines beneath his eyes into starker focus; that part may have just been due to the fact that Hanamaki could now see his cheekbones a lot more clearly. The fight had long since disappeared from his eyes, and Makki couldn’t really see into them the way he used to be able to. He tilted his mouth in displeasure and cupped Matsu’s face in his hand. Makki indulged himself in the way his friend leaned into the casually intimate touch and let Makki stroke his sharp cheekbone with his thumb. Breaking the moment to save himself from falling any faster into the hell of unrequited pining, Hanamaki leaned forward and embraced his best friend. Neither of them said anything for a long time, holding onto each other like they were afraid that letting go would mean the end of whatever they were now.

“You look like you need to sleep, Issei. Really badly.” Matsukawa was the first to pull away, replacing Hanamaki’s presence with a couch pillow.

“I haven’t in a while.”

“Okay, too bad, it’s bedtime. You’re taking a nap.”

“What am I, an infant?”

“Well, yes. An overgrown toddler. Get up, fatty.” Makki got to his feet and pulled Matsu up afterwards, shooing him to his room like an overprotective mother. “You look exhausted.” Makki shoved Matsu into the bed, aggressively tucking him in with three blankets, and then covering his face with a pillow.

“This is good, thank you.” His voice was muffled, but Hanamaki heard the gratitude in Matsukawa’s tone. Makki sat at the edge of the bed with his hand resting on the pillow.

“Now I don’t have to look at your ugly face anymore.”

“You know you love my face.”

“What I can see from the eyebrows, yes.”

“Asshole.”

“Go to sleep.”

“No.”

“Go. To. Sleep.”

“Fine.” Matsukawa threw off the pillow covering his head and grinned lopsidedly. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, whatever, nerd.” They gazed at each other fondly for a moment. “Call me if this happens again. Please.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” One last time, Makki ruffled Matsu’s hair a little too slowly to be friendly, but he was so weak to the soft looks Matsu saved for when they were alone, when he was truly relaxed. “Okay, I’m leaving and you better go sleep.”

“Okay, bye. Bye!”

“Why two?”

“One for your ass.”

“You fucker.” Makki smacked him in the head with the pillow and left, chuckling. Matsu settled in for a long nap, feeling warm and significantly more relaxed.

 

When Matsu woke four hours later, he texted Makki a brief, but heartfelt ‘thank you.’ Makki checked his phone when it buzzed, his whole face lighting up when he saw whom the message was from. Momo sat next to him, observing the way a single word from Matsukawa could buoy her boyfriend’s entire mood.

 

 

 

The group chat exploded the following weekend. Oikawa had received phone calls from two Premier League teams, offering him a spot on their roster, and he had instantly sent out a mass text to his friends. Makki tried to call him, but the line was busy for a while; he presumed Tooru had gone to call his parents, or make out with Hajime. Either one was plausible.

Deciding breakfast was a great time to go get coffee and scream excitedly at one another, the four gathered at their café before classes. Takahiro had jumped onto Tooru with delight, joined moments after by Issei, and they stayed in a giant pile until Hajime came back from the bathroom and peeled them off. Though their meeting didn’t last long, they got all the important details, save for which team Oikawa was going to play for. The Arrows and Sunbirds had both put in excellent offers, and were excellent teams, so he was left trying to figure out where to live in the future.

“Well, it depends! If Iwa-chan-“ Tooru began, but was promptly cut off.

“No, you’re not using me as an excuse. I haven’t found out about med school yet, but you should pick the better team.” Iwaizumi flicked Oikawa’s forehead, earning a yelp and an indignant hair flick.

“They both have their strengths, but the Arrows’ starting setter is retiring soon. That’ll give me a good in! Plus, if Iwa-chan gets into medical school, I’ll only be an hour and a half away!”

“I can never get rid of you, can I?”

“Never!” Oikawa smiled brightly at a reddening Iwaizumi.

“You two are disgusting.” Matsukawa groused.

“Absolutely revolting.” Hanamaki seconded, as he was wont to do. Hajime kissed Tooru’s temple and returned to his coffee with a smile. Matsukawa and Hanamaki made gagging noises into their breakfasts, triggering Iwaizumi’s well-trained eye-rolling reflex.

 

 

 

The good news continued that week with Iwaizumi finding out he was accepted into the Todai medical school. Oikawa accepted his offer with the Toray Arrows that afternoon, notifying Matsukawa and Hanamaki only moments after. Hanamaki had also already been accepted into a Master’s program, which left Matsukawa as the only one in their group of friends without a concrete plan for after graduation.

The sun was low in the sky when Matsukawa submitted his final essay and then allowed his body to be claimed by the plush couch. Graduation was a few short weeks away, and the uncertainty of his future gnawed away at him. Ichiro sat on a chair by Issei’s head, idly smoothing his wayward strands.

“So, I’ve got some news!” Ichiro began, out of the blue, his face split by a grin. Matsu looked up from between two cushions that had somehow migrated onto his face.

“What’s the news?”

“I got that job I applied for a few months ago!” Matsu’s field of vision increased when Ichiro sat down on his legs and threw the pillows off of him.

“That’s great! But, which job? What about the one you have now?” Pushing himself into a sitting position with some difficulty, Issei waited for Ichiro’s response.

“Oh, well, I didn’t like this job much because it wasn’t any fun, so I applied to a few other companies in the meantime.”

“What’s the offer like?”

“Pays about ten percent more, better benefits, and-“ There was an excited gleam in his eyes, “-better location!”

“Ah, you can finally get out of that soul-sucking, windowless cubicle?”

“I’ll probably start in a cubicle again, but I meant a different living location.”

“Oh, where? Is it further into town? I know you’ve always liked those buildi-”

“It’s in Melbourne!”

“Melbourne?”

“Yeah, Melbourne!”

“As in, Australia?” Ichiro nodded enthusiastically, but the excitement vanished within moments when he saw Issei’s face. Matsu was trying to be excited because he really was glad that Ichiro had found a job to make him happy, and yet panic was bubbling in his throat. Matsu wanted him to be successful and fulfilled by his life, but the possibility of moving to Australia was more than a little overwhelming. A familiar pressure began snaking its tendrils up his neck and to the side of his head.

“You’re not excited?”

“I mean, of course, I’m so glad you got a new job that you’ll like more, but Australia’s a bit of a shock! I guess I have no excuse for not practicing my English now.”

“Can’t you just be happy?”

“I _am_! I’m just thinking about the logistics, is all. When would you start if you accepted it?”

“I already did, and I’m starting in a month.”

“But how-“

“We can figure that out later. I’m going to go call my parents and then we can go celebrate!” Matsu waited for Ichiro to leave the room before slumping visibly in his seat. What on Earth was he going to do in Australia? It took him a minute, but he snapped out of his negative thoughts, reminding himself that it was his job to be supportive. It’s not like he had a job or anything to lose; Ichiro had been supporting the two of them the entire year. It would be fine, he thought, and forced a smile onto his face.

 

 

“I have really important news!” Tooru announced, sweeping dramatically into the café. The only heads that turned were those of people who had never witnessed the spectacle of Oikawa Tooru before.

“Did you finally learn how to pour the cereal into the bowl without setting a fire?”

“Or how to dress yourself?”

“Maybe how-“

“Matsu! Makki!” Oikawa huffed, crossing his arms as he slid onto the bench next to a snickering Iwaizumi. “Iwa-chan, you betray me.”

“So, what’s the news?” Makki asked, casually jockeying for dominance over the middle of the bench with Matsu.

“I had my medical examination this morning-”

“Ooooh, Hajime’s already getting familiar with _anatomy_!” Matsu interjected.

“So studious!” Not one to ever turn down the opportunity to heckle his friends, Hanamaki joined in.

“He wants to have a leg up on all those other nerds in medical school before he even starts. Good on you.” Iwaizumi was laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe, despite trying to act serious. Oikawa stared Hanamaki and Matsukawa down.

“Anyway, as I was saying, I got an exam _not from Iwa-chan_ , and I am officially 186.3 centimeters tall!” He beamed.

“Hey, I haven’t measured myself in a while.” Matsukawa hummed thoughtfully.

“I’d say I’m about 18 cm, give or take.” A stir stick from Iwaizumi’s direction smacked Hanamaki in the forehead. He muttered darkly.

“You wish, ‘Hiro.”

“What would you know about my dick, huh?”

“Enough to know you’re lying.”

“Asshole.”

“It’s like we already have children, Hajime.” Oikawa leaned into Iwaizumi while the two continued to bicker.

 

 

Hanamaki was kneeling on the tile floor of the change room, crying from laughter.

“You’re _joking_.” He spluttered out.

“What the fuck?! This has to be broken.”

“Blaming technology is the mark of a _small_ man, Hajime.” Matsukawa couldn’t resist the jab.

“Shut the fuck up, Issei.”

“Iwa-” Oikawa started, reaching a hand out to Iwaizumi’s arm.

“If you so much as say _anything_ about this, I will murder you all.”

“You’d regret that.” Hanamaki pointed out.

“No, I wouldn’t.” Hajime glowered, and Tooru did his best to blend into the wall. He knew what would happen, and was not remotely interested in getting in the line of fire.

“Actually, that’s a good point. Everyone in prison would be scared of him, despite his diminutive stature. Remember the old adage, ‘it’s not the size of the dog in the fight-’ oh GOD-” Hanamaki dodged too late, and was tackled by 179.9cm of rage-filled Hajime. While the two wrestled for dominance on the floor, Oikawa helped Matsukawa measure himself. They chatted amicably over the sounds of Hanamaki’s pride breaking.

“Hm, 191.2! You’ve grown, too. You’re now over three centimeters taller than Makki, but you should probably wait to mention that until later,” Tooru gestured to the amalgam of limbs on the floor that was Hajime pinning Takahiro, “-I think he’s wounded enough.”

 

 

 

Ichiro was out of town on a business trip for the few days prior to graduation, so when Tooru suggested the group all go for dinner, Matsu accepted without a moment’s hesitation.

Matsu arrived just after Makki and Momo, followed by Tooru and Hajime, who had a ‘just fucked’ look about them.

“Subtle.” Makki deadpanned, and Momo elbowed him.

“Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.” She chided, a predatory smile on her face.

“Oh yeah, true!” Takahiro snickered, pecking her on the forehead quickly when he saw Issei raising both eyebrows at him in amusement.

“Subtle.” Matsu teased.

“Shut up. Are we going to sit down?” Makki asked, looking over his friends' faces. They all nodded and followed him to their table.

As always, the conversation was absurd and the laughter was abundant; Momo hadn’t missed a beat in integrating herself into the group of friends. She had become comfortable enough to make fun of Oikawa’s idiosyncrasies and Iwaizumi’s height, but she would always side with Matsukawa in relentless assaults against Hanamaki. Makki only pouted a little for being made fun of constantly, but he knew there would be no stopping the wild eyebrow duo when they got together. They’d only met a total of three or four times, but had become fast friends, much to Makki’s great confusion.

“Why is everyone on her side, huh? You’re supposed to be _my_ best friends.”

“I’m just more charming and your friends like me better.” Hajime, Tooru and Issei all nodded in agreement to Momo’s statement. Takahiro huffed.

“She’s nicer to look at, Makki.” Oikawa added, hiding a laugh in his cup.

“Well, I don’t deny that.” Momo shrugged casually, smirking.

Later, when their food had arrived, the discussion continued while both Makki and Matsu picked the vegetables they didn’t like out of their meals. Tooru and Hajime had grown used to seeing the discarded mountains of red peppers on Matsu’s plate and the eggplant on Makki’s, but Momo watched curiously as they separated the undesirables from the rest of the food. Neither even so much as looked down to see where their chopsticks were going when they reached to the other’s plate, or where the other was; they moved purely from habit, all the while carrying on a conversation.

“I’ve never seen you do that, Takahiro,” Momo said, with some curiosity, “-or have I just not been paying attention?” Oikawa raised his hand as though he was indicating that he would field the question.

“They only do that when they eat together and they know the food won’t be wasted. It’s some weird programming in their brains. Individually, they will eat everything.”

“How did you notice-” She began.

“We spent a lot of time together in high school because of volleyball.” Iwaizumi answered the next one because Oikawa’s mouth was full of food. Matsukawa and Hanamaki nodded, not wasting their opportunity to gracelessly shovel dinner into their mouths.

“You’re all like separate parts of one brain.”

“Which is accurate, because that’s about how smart we are. Together, we form a singular, functioning human.” Matsukawa mumbled through a mouthful, not wanting to let the window for humour close.

“Oikawa’s quarter is a little damaged,” Hanamaki took the metaphorical torch, then handed it back.

“Iwaizumi’s- well, we call it a quarter, but it’s smaller than that,” Tooru choked on his chicken, looking between Issei and Hajime with wide eyes. Matsu flinched, undoubtedly having been on the receiving end of a kick.

“Matsu’s is just furry,” Hanamaki chuckled at his own joke and Matsu’s shrug of agreement, his eyes shining with mirth.

“And Makki’s is, frankly, a bit mushy. Past its best before date, really.”

“Hey!”

“Shhh, it’s okay, I love you and your mushy quarter brain.” Momo patted Makki on the head and he jerked sideways to startle her and kiss the surprised ‘o’ of her mouth. She smacked him on the arm when he pulled away, grinning.

“I know. You like them dumb and pretty.”

“That still doesn’t explain why I’m with you.” The table erupted in hysterics.

“We’re keeping you.” Matsukawa announced, gesturing to Momo’s attempt at an innocent face.

 

 

A week of brutal exams came and went for Hanamaki, Oikawa and Iwaizumi. Matsukawa’s final evaluations were all papers, so he coasted through the week, binge-watching shows online and sending vaguely inspirational memes to his struggling friends. Three days after the last exam was the graduation ceremony for the science department, which meant that Oikawa, Iwaizumi and Hanamaki were graduating together. Matsukawa, much to Ichiro’s great displeasure, went to their ceremony and sat with all of their parents, Oikawa’s sister, Takeru and Momo. She got along really well with all the parents, especially Makki’s, and that both warmed Matsu’s heart and sent it beating off time. Matsukawa’s parents came too, as they were already in town for his graduation the next day.

“What’s absolutely hilarious is that your parents all interact in the same way as the four of you do. It’s really cute.” Momo whispered to Matsu as the speaker called the name of someone that they didn’t know.

“Yeah, it’s pretty great to have parents that get along, too. We just spent so much time at each other’s houses that it became inevitable.”

“I’m just happy you’ve welcomed me in like one of your own, despite the fact that I am useless at volleyball.” She smiled sheepishly, and Matsu threw an arm around her shoulders to pull her into a side hug.

“We weren’t kidding when we said we liked you more than Makki. You can just straight-up replace him if anything happens. We’ll just dye your hair and cut it into that absurd haircut he had for all of high school.” Matsu deadpanned and Momo tried her best not to burst into giggles during the ceremony. Oikawa’s sister laughed in a cadence identical to Tooru’s from Matsukawa’s other side, prompting Takeru to shush her.

“He avoids showing me pictures because he’s so embarrassed.”

“It’s a good thing I have a smartphone, isn’t it?” They chuckled through ninety percent of the ceremony, looking through high school photos of the four with Matsukawa’s running commentary.

 

 

            After the ceremony, during which Makki had fallen asleep no fewer than six times by Matsu’s count, the merry band filed outside to take some photos. First, the parents posed with their children, and siblings, in the case of Oikawa. Once the four men had suffered about enough of the cheek pinching and hugging nonsense, they all squished in together for some family photos of their own.

“No, Iwa-chan, _smile_! I want to frame these for us!” Oikawa whined at Iwaizumi while all the parents chuckled.

“I am not putting up photos of us in my apartment, you dork.” Hanamaki said flatly, jostling Oikawa to better center them in front of his mom’s camera.

“’Hiro, you have an entire wall of photos of us in your apartment already.” Matsukawa laughed at the sly look on Hanamaki’s mom’s face.

“Is that right, honey?”

“Mom, _no_.”

“Did you get sentimental while you were in school?”

“He did, Hanamaki-san!” Oikawa added, leaning in and giving Makki an amused side-eyed look.

“ _No_.”

“I never knew an unsentimental Takahiro, to be honest.” Momo burst into giggles at Takahiro’s wounded facial expression.

“Yeah, well, Hajime keeps every single article Tooru’s ever in!” Hanamaki blurted to take the attention off himself. Oikawa rounded on Iwaizumi, who had exploded into a colour more purple than red. Matsukawa’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline, in absolute disbelief that Takahiro would drag something like that out into public. Matsu began shaking with silent laughter and caught Hanamaki’s eye. Both nodded, smirking.

“Iwa-chan? That’s so embarrassing!” The look on Tooru’s face was the exact opposite of what his words suggested.

“We’re dating, you idiot!” He grumbled, jabbing Oikawa in the side.

“Tooru still sleeps with the Godzilla plushie he stole from Hajime-kun when he was a kid.” Thirteen heads turned to Oikawa’s sister. Hajime already knew this because the stupid thing would end up in his face in the middle of the night, every night.

“Nee-chan! I trusted you!” The laughter began again. “W-well, Matsu has an entire folder on his phone of kittens in costumes!” Matsukawa shrugged, unfazed.

“They’re cute.” Oikawa looked put out by the lack of rage in the response.

“Did you not wonder how he always managed to have one to send in the group chat?” Hanamaki asked. The four had completely forgotten that they were in the company of their families, and began a debate on which costume would be cutest on a kitten. Momo sighed deeply at her boyfriend’s _strong_ feelings about kittens in wizard robes and exchanged an amused glance with his parents. The rest of the parents chatted amongst themselves as they watched their sons’ robed arms gesturing wildly along with impassioned statements about Siamese cats in party hats. Momo cleared her throat and brought the careening freight train of feline shenanigans to a screeching halt.

“You still haven’t taken a group photo and I think we’re all hungry.” Sheepishly, they lined up, arms around each other and large, honest grins on all their faces. This was the four of them at their happiest: together and laughing from deep in their bellies.

“Finally!” Matsukawa’s dad called, and his son rolled his eyes.

“We’re in the prime of our youth, dad. I’m sorry for being so exuberant!”

“Hi, I’m-sorry-for-being-exuberant, I’m dad!”

“ _Dad_.” Issei hung his head in shame, hiding behind the sleeve of Hanamaki’s graduation robe.

“ _Matsukawa-san_.” Hanamaki echoed, petting Matsukawa’s hair in consolation. Momo was cackling with delight, and naturally, the other parents were in stitches. Iwaizumi and Oikawa tried to keep straight faces, unsure of who they should be siding with in the situation. Unbeknownst to them at the time, at least two cameras were surreptitiously recording a sequence of photos of them trying to organize themselves.

It was an hour later that all the family photos were done, and Hanamaki’s mom was trying to sneak in a few photos of Takahiro and Momo before the massive group headed out to dinner. Over his dad’s shoulder, Matsukawa caught sight of the impromptu photoshoot in progress, his eyes lingering on the way Hanamaki’s hands encircled Momo’s waist and the eye-crinkling smile he directed at her. He loved her, that much Issei knew; he had never seen Makki this smitten. If he were to be honest with himself, that was the kind of relationship he wanted. All casual intimacy and gentle warmth, without the strange detachment he had grown accustomed to with Ichiro.   Issei swallowed, turning his attention back to his dad, who was expecting a response to whatever he had said during Matsukawa’s jealous staring. The shrill ring of his phone broke Makki’s moment with Momo, but he answered his sister’s call happily.

 

Matsukawa’s graduation went off without a hitch the next day, but the atmosphere had notably shifted with Ichiro there. He had shown up late for the actual start of the event, but thankfully, had not missed anything of importance save for Matsu’s phone going off because Makki had texted him ‘what’s your temperature at graduation? ONE DEGREE’ before his name was called. Later, out in the lot in front of the arts building, Matsukawa’s parents were trying to herd the four men into taking another round of photos. They filed into a line reluctantly, picking Matsu up and holding him horizontally in front of them. Bored-looking as always, Matsu made a peace sign with his fingers while Makki complained loudly about how heavy he was. After several photos, they dropped Matsukawa, all complaining of sore arms, and Makki watched Momo chatting Ichiro up over to the side. He smiled because he knew she had gone to make him feel less awkward while they took photos. She was a much stronger person than he because at least she somehow found the ability to smile when faced with someone who was so cruel to a friend. Mom must have seen him staring, so she turned and mimed a camera button being pressed.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer!” She teased, squealing when Hanamaki pulled his phone out to photograph her making a face.

“Wow, that will definitely last for a while. Probably forever, maybe.” Momo ran over, hurling herself at the phone to delete the picture. She and Makki were both laughing, swatting at each other playfully. Ichiro watched them with some amusement, then walked up to Matsu, nudging him gently with his shoulder. Issei returned the gesture, whacking Ichiro in the butt with his diploma.

“Easy there, graduate! How does it feel to be done?”

“The same, only I feel more like Harry Potter than usual. Look at this ridiculous robe.” Issei extended out his arms, flapping the fabric back and forth to reinforce his statement.  Hanamaki then walked by, slapping the loose-hanging polyester hard enough to have it wrap around Matsukawa’s arm. “You’re ruining my superhero moment, jackass.”

“Oh yeah? And what superhero are you? Man-bat? Like Batman, but with more bat-like features, like fur, and beady eyes?” Momo snorted from behind Matsu, and he turned to her.

“It’s not my fault that your family doesn’t have the gift of echolocation and magnificent wings. Besides, my fur keeps me warm in winter.” Matsu stated, matter-of-factly, and instead of retorting with something clever, Makki just burst into laughter.

“I think your beady eyes are rather charming, Man-bat-sama.” Momo bowed politely, only serving to make Makki begin wheezing. Matsu flapped his ‘wings.’

“Thank you, my child. I will now bless you with bat powers passed down from the ancients.”

“Issei, you’re a grown man.” Ichiro chided, interrupting after Matsu had enveloped a ‘meditating’ Momo in his graduation gown. He turned to his boyfriend, his standard shit-eating grin back in place. Momo poked her head out of the billowing fabric somewhere at chest-level. Hanamaki’s laughter faded, the warning tone in Ichiro’s voice sobering him up in a flash. Luckily, Iwaizumi and Oikawa came over then to drag them to the second group dinner in as many days.

 

 

By some miracle, there was a table big enough to accommodate everyone at the restaurant. The parents sat on one side, leaving their overgrown children to the other side where they could heckle each other in relative peace. The atmosphere had changed from the previous day, however; Ichiro’s presence had brought with it a damper of sorts. The conversation was more reserved, especially among the four friends and Momo. She tried her best to include Ichiro in everything, but he seemed to be adamant about speaking as little as possible to anyone but Matsukawa.

“Okay, so, Iwaizumi and I have a total of twelve minutes of freedom before we continue being both gentlemen and scholars, and Oikawa leaves for Mishima in a few weeks-”

“I have school, too!” Momo reminded him, like he didn’t know she was entering her last year.

“Yes, and Momo has one more year of systemic torture left, too. Before then, we should really go on a trip. Maybe the week before we go back?” Hanamaki suggested, hardly waiting to finish his mouthful. Matsu fidgeted. He wouldn’t be there, but he hadn’t yet brought it up.

“Oh, Issei, have you not told them?” Ichiro asked sweetly, resting his chin in his hand. Takahiro, Hajime, Tooru and Momo tilted their heads inquisitively.

“Well, not really. I haven’t had the time, I guess.”

“Guys, we’re moving to Australia in two weeks’ time, so we won’t be here for that.” You could hear a pin drop on one side of the table. Issei felt a nervous squirming in his stomach start to work its way up his throat and he ducked his head to avoid seeing his best friend’s face.

“What do you mean, Australia?” The volume of Hanamaki’s voice attracted the attention of his parents, and then subsequently the others. All of a sudden, the entire table was staring at Ichiro and Issei, the latter making a failing attempt at breathing deeply to calm himself.


	9. my youth is slipping away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Issei and Ichiro move to Australia, and life's struggle continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHA...ha...hahahahaa. Oh, hello! Fancy meeting you here! Um. I have no excuses. Have 12k words of feelings and tears and I'll be waiting with a hug. Or six of them. Lots of hugs. 
> 
>  
> 
> P.s. We're almost through the worst of it. Hang tight, the happiness train is on the horizon!
> 
> P.P.s. Have I mentioned that I appreciate all y'all for sticking with me through this struggle? Because I do. Thank you so much for your comments and kudos; they keep me going <3

                  “Well-” Matsu began, twisting the napkin in his hands.

                  “I decided to accept a job in Melbourne because the pay was a lot better, and we’ll be near my parents if anything happens. I think it’ll be a fun adventure for us!” Ichiro smiled, looking over at Issei fondly. Hanamaki stared across the table, face caught in a grimace that may have been misinterpreted as a grin by people who didn’t know any better. Takahiro was well aware that he was meant to be supportive of his best friend because he knew how much of a people-pleaser Issei was, but this was going to be a very trying time. Momo pinched his thigh harder than necessary to force him to relax. She too knew better than to let her expressions betray her. Oikawa was sporting his scariest fake smile, and Iwaizumi sat next to him, suffering from a sort of shock-induced rigor mortis. The side of the table where the parents were sitting was silent. Matsukawa’s mom spoke first.

                 “That’s exciting! I’m sorry for looking so shocked, it’s just that, well, we are! Issei hadn’t mentioned anything to us yet, but I’m sure that this is going to be wonderful for you two. Just don’t be surprised if I show up at your doorstep every so often. Australia’s a long way from your mother, Issei.” She mock-scowled at her son, and the tension faded to a manageable level.

                 “You might actually improve your shit English, eh, Issei?” Hanamaki teased, but his posture was rigid.

                 “I hope so. I might just be able to sing along to that garbage you listen to, ‘Hiro.”

                 “Excuse you. It’s not garbage. It’s _art_ , and besides, you only happen to be listening when the awful songs come on _._ ”

                 “Takahiro, you used to live with him. Which means he was always around. Whiiich makes that statement even more incriminating.” Momo added, sipping innocently from her teacup.

                 “You know what? Maybe it’s a good thing you two will be separated. I won’t get you two jerks ganging up on me anymore.” Matsu and Momo high-fived, both sporting identical shit-eating grins. Makki stared at the contrast between their two hands, gulping when Matsu’s hand nearly enveloped Momo’s.

                 “Plus, the hair density of Tokyo will decrease by half.” Iwaizumi muttered off-hand, a small smirk playing at his lips. Oikawa choked on his water and his sounds of struggle were drowned out by contagious laughter. Matsukawa wiggled his eyebrows and shrugged in agreement. It’s not like he was one to argue the truth. The laughter helped him calm down a little bit, but his breathing was still too quick to be comfortable. He blinked some fuzziness out of his eyes, unable to ignore the way Makki was watching him like a hawk. Hanamaki gestured over to the bathroom with his head and got up. Matsukawa waited a moment, slurping down some of the ice-cold water in his glass, and then followed. He squeezed Ichiro’s shoulder on the way past him as a reassurance and received a confused cock of the head in return. He would deal with that later. Matsukawa was reasonably confident that he was about to get an earful from his best friend, and it took a whole ten seconds for a tension headache to comfortably nestle itself between his ears. He pressed at his temples as he rounded the corner, half-expecting Takahiro to be hiding. Hanamaki was not hiding, for once; he was standing stiffly by the bathroom door, face contorted in concern.

                “Hey, you okay?” Matsukawa asked, dropping his hands back to his sides.

                “Me? No, I’m fine. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” They both shifted over to lean by the door.

                “Why wouldn’t I be?”

                “You had that same panicked look in your eyes just now as you did when you called me that one time.” Hanamaki leaned forward so he could see Matsukawa’s face. The latter kept his gaze fixed on his feet. Issei knew better than to think Takahiro couldn’t read him. He had forgotten how his best friend was able to anticipate what he needed before he needed it, and this was no exception. Matsukawa lifted his head slowly, knowing this was something he was going to have to address lest Hanamaki puncture a hole in his forehead with his eyes.

                “I’m okay.”

                “You’re the shittiest liar.” Makki snaked his arms around Matsu’s shoulders and gripped him closely. “Are you okay with moving? Did he even ask you about this?” Makki’s voice was muffled enough by fabric that Matsu could pretend that he didn’t hear anything, but he replied anyway.

                “Yeah. We talked about it. I’m excited, but I’m really nervous, too. Nervous about finding work, about speaking _English_ all the time? I mean, this is big, ‘Hiro. Really big.” Matsukawa clutched Hanamaki tighter, wadding his shirt in his fists.

                “It’s a big change. You’re allowed to be nervous and terrified and whatever else it is that you’re feeling, okay? And yes, your English is one step above garbage, but you’ll learn. Even if it takes endless hours of Justin Timberlake-“

                “Wow, way to motivate me. ‘Here, listen to this really shitty music to-‘” Matsu said into Makki’s shoulder. Makki pulled back, holding him at arm’s length.

                “You take that back _right now_. Justin Timberlake is-“ Matsukawa started laughing, mimicking Hanamaki’s voice.

                “- _the greatest artist of all time and he doesn’t get enough credit for producing and-_ “ Hanamaki pouted like an angry toddler. Matsukawa’s smile softened, his laughter dying away as Hanamaki reluctantly allowed his lips to be pulled into a smile. Takahiro had always made him feel warm, like the sun in his sky, and he wasn’t thinking about much else when the corners of Hanamaki’s eyes crinkled in that familiar way. He wasn’t thinking when he reached out and cupped Makki’s cheek, wasn’t thinking when he pulled him closer, wasn’t thinking when he could feel Makki’s stuttered breath on his face, when their eyes started closing, when he felt the electricity between them _buzzing_ and – it was Hanamaki’s phone. He jerked back like he was stung when he felt his phone go off, panic evident in his eyes. Hanamaki stood there, staring at Matsukawa in disbelief. Horror? He wasn’t sure.

                “What-“ Makki breathed, then shook his head like he didn’t want an answer. His fingers were gently resting on his lips.

                “I’m sorry-“ Matsu wanted to reach out, but wasn’t sure if it would be appropriate.

                “It wasn’t just you, but it’s fine. Nothing happened. I guess it just caught me off guard, you know, how easily I forget everything but you.” Hanamaki strolled away casually, face slightly sleepy-looking once more. Matsukawa buried his face in his hands. Why did he have so much trouble differentiating friendship and romantic love? He figured it was easy to misattribute them after spending so much time together, but the near miss was terrifying. Shaking his head, Matsu found his way back to the table, avoiding eye contact with Makki for the rest of the meal.

 

 

 

                “Sup, douchecanoe?” He barely had a grip on his phone, but Makki answered anyway.

                “Hey, can I talk to you?”

                “What are we doing right now?” Makki grinned, shifting on the couch to hold the device properly.

                “I can _hear_ your shit-eating grin. Shut up.”

                “I’m not grinning.”

                “You are a dumbass.”

                “I know. What’s up? You wanna talk about the going away party? I hope you’re ready for dick-themed decorations.” Hanamaki said through a mouthful of Nutella.

                “It’s a going away party, not a bachelorette-“

                “Same shit. You’re getting a dick tiara.” Makki heard Matsu roll his eyes on the other end of the line, then delighted in the low chuckle.

                “Goddamnit. Okay, no, no dicks. But, I wanted to talk about the other day.” Matsu’s sigh carried over very clearly.

                “What about it?”

                “I mean, I wanted to apologize. I don’t really know what came over me.”

                “I know I’m charming as fuck, it’s okay. I don’t blame you.” They both snorted.

                “I guess, I just- we’re so close and I feel like my brain’s constantly getting my signals all fucked up.” Makki swallowed thickly. He knew it was stupid to have hoped Matsu would say something else, that he’d admit there was more between them. They were both in relationships, after all.

                “Don’t worry about it. I’ve already forgotten.” Matsu exhaled shakily in relief.

                “Okay, good.”

                “Good.”

                “No dick tiara.”

                “You are the opposite of fun, Issei.”

 

 

 

                 “I don’t know what to get him that doesn’t take up a lot of space, Makki!” Oikawa lamented, his shopping cart full of an assortment of ridiculous items. He was easily the most enthusiastic gift-giver of the three. Iwaizumi was leafing through a magazine someone had left in the wrong aisle and Hanamaki was carrying several books in a basket hooked in the crook of his elbow. “You look like Little Red Riding Hood!” Iwaizumi looked up.

                “Pink riding hood, maybe.” He returned to an article on joint replacement for aging ex-athletes.

                “It’s _strawberry blonde_ , Hajime.” Makki corrected.

                “Whatever you say.”

                “At least it’s _natural_.” Oikawa tensed visibly, feeling Hanamaki’s eyes on him.

                “My hair’s natural!” A young woman in the next aisle over jumped at the sudden loud guffawing.

                “Tooru, I think you should just give up on trying to hide your highlights.”

                “No! I don’t get highlights!” Iwaizumi, being ever the loving boyfriend, watched Oikawa get progressively redder in the face, puffing up like he was being inflated.

                “I know.” Makki said over his shoulder, sauntering over to the end of the aisle and smirking to himself.

                “Makkiiiiiii! Iwa-chan, go get him!”

                “I’m reading.”

                “You know how to read?” Iwaizumi sighed, trying to be mad at Oikawa’s adorable giggling.

                “ _Gross_.” Makki muttered loudly enough for them to hear.

 

 

 

                Matsu folded the last shirt, tucking it lovingly into the already full suitcase. Ichiro padded up behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist and nuzzling the side of his head. It was these quiet moments that Matsukawa loved most. He turned his head and kissed his smiling boyfriend.

                “Thank you.” Ichiro whispered into Issei’s neck, raising goose bumps all down his spine, and triggering a cascade of tingling down to the tips of his fingers and toes.

               “I know how much you hate packing, so I wanted to help a little. That, and I know you would have waited until tomorrow, ten minutes before your flight.” Matsu turned around, brushing his lips gently against the freckles running across Ichiro’s broad shoulders. “And you’re shirtless. Oh no. How terrible.” Ichiro’s breath caught when Issei bit down on the juncture of his neck and shoulder, his long fingers deftly returning the favour by slipping beneath Matsu’s tight sleep shirt. Sliding from gentle to rough in a matter of seconds, Ichiro grabbed Matsu, turning him around and pushing him against the wall adjacent. Issei grunted, his lip curling. He corrected himself mentally: _these_ were the moments he loved most, though they were few and far between. Ichiro had him pinned against the wall, grinding up against his ass until Issei couldn’t stay silent anymore. He moaned into the crook of his elbow, biting down on the skin there when Ichiro snuck a hand around to palm the growing bulge in his shorts. He whined needily, pushing back against the warm body holding him still. Ichiro stepped back and Matsu was left cold, turning around to shoot him a questioning look.

              “That’s all you get. You best earn the rest of it,” Ichiro whispered seductively in his ear, smacking his butt on his way out of the bedroom. All Matsu could do was murmur angrily and gesture at the tent in his pants with both hands. Ichiro laughed heartily.

              “I think I’m overdue for a good dicking, Ichiro.” He complained, following his boyfriend into the kitchen.

              “That’s a little vulgar, isn’t it?”

              “Yes. It is.”

              “Is-sei.” Ichiro sing-songed playfully, tapping Issei on the nose. Matsu sighed, adjusting himself in his shorts and pulling the milk out of the fridge. No sex today, he thought sadly. “I promise you the night of a lifetime when we get to the apartment in Australia, though.”

             “We’re going to have a lot of surfaces to christen. I want to violate at least half of them in the first week.”

             “Just be good and you won’t have to worry about it!”

             “Pff, I am a paragon of virtue.”

 

 

 

            The day after Ichiro’s plane left, movers came in and packed up the rest of the things in the apartment, save for some clothes and a notebook or two. Matsu showed up at Makki’s door with a suitcase in one hand and a box of cream puffs in the other. It was impossible to tell what Makki was happier about: the cream puffs or Matsu. Momo popped her head out of the bedroom when she heard Matsu’s voice, her torso consumed by one of Makki’s hoodies. She grinned, bounding over and throwing her arms around Issei. He responded in kind, ducking down to reach her comfortably.

            “I’m so glad we get to annoy the living daylights out of Takahiro all day, every day, for an entire _week_. I mean, I’m sorry you have to be away from Ichiro until the apartment’s ready, but at least this way we get to spend time together.” Momo’s enthusiasm was contagious, and Makki rolled his eyes at their fist bump.

            “You two really are the worst together. I’m just going to blast some _Justin Timberlake_ ,” Makki directed a pointed look at Matsu, “and kick you out if you complain. Those are the rules.”

            “First of all, majority rules, right?” Issei and Momo exchanged a look and a solemn nod. “Plus, you know you can’t resist us together. Look at how cute we are.” Momo batted her eyelashes for effect, tilting her head. Issei mimicked her, only he was pouting. Takahiro looked decidedly unimpressed, his arms crossed tightly across his chest.

            “You’re as cute as a concrete block, Matsu. Momo gets a pass, though.”

            “Bias on the judging panel. I demand a new judge.”

            “Request denied.”

             Later that night, Issei had both Momo and Takahiro fall asleep on the couch while they were watching movies, their heads in his lap. He stroked their hair gently in tandem, smiling fondly at both. In his sleep, Makki reached out to touch Matsu’s hand, absentmindedly stroking along his fingers. A familiar twinge resurged in Matsu’s chest at the contact, and he willed his heart to calm its frantic beating.

 

 

           

            The morning of the flight dawned much too soon. Issei had hardly slept all night from nerves and was sitting on the kitchen counter in the morning silence. He was midway through a mug of tea when a bleary-eyed Takahiro padded into the room, rubbing sleep from his eyes and yawning. Matsu found himself smiling at how tousled Makki’s hair was and how his shirt hung askew from his shoulders. He shuffled over in his pyjama pants and rested his forehead on Matsu’s arm, mumbling something akin to a greeting. Matsu patted his hair down, whispering a good morning. The sun had just begun its daily climb, illuminating the kitchen with a warm glow. Matsu’s chest felt tight as he slurped his tea, watching sun-drenched Makki shuffle and clank around in his quest for coffee.

            “I-“ He began, but Makki put up a hand to stop him, grating out yet another series of unintelligible syllables. The coffee began percolating, the steady burble and drip a comforting background noise. Momo was fast asleep still, and Makki would have to wake her soon enough. He just wanted a few uninterrupted minutes with his best friend before then. Once his coffee was ready, Takahiro crossed the kitchen and hopped up on the counter next to Issei. He took a long drag from his mug and put a hand on Matsu’s thigh reassuringly.

            “I’m going to miss you so much.” Makki mumbled, resting his head on Matsu’s shoulder.

            “I thought we weren’t talking about this.”

            “Fuck it.”

            “I’m going to miss you too, you giant nerd.”

            “You’re a bigger nerd.”

            “You’re the biggest nerd. Thanks for organizing that party, too. It meant a lot to have everyone there.” Issei put his hand next to Takahiro’s on his thigh, nudging their pinkies.

            “We just used it as an excuse to get drunk, really.”

            “I’ll take it.”

            “Don’t even act like you didn’t love your dick tiara.” Makki poked Matsu’s pinky with his, turning to look at him with a mischievous glint in his eye.

            “It was a lovely, sparkly dick tiara.”

            “It really complemented your eyes.”

            “It was purple.”

            “Well, you just don’t understand the finer points of colour theory, obviously.”

            “I obviously missed that lecture in high school art.”

            “Obviously.”

            “Obviously.”

            “Oooobviously.” They started repeating the word with steadily worse accents, finally succumbing to laughter loud enough to wake Momo.

After getting up, she stood in the doorway of the kitchen for a few minutes, smiling warmly. The two best friends were oblivious, chuckling and reminiscing, their wide grins backlit by the sun.

           

 

            Checked in and ready to go, Issei stood before the entrance into security, trying to control his emotions. Takahiro and Momo stood opposite him, doing the exact same.

            “I hope you have a child-less flight and that Australia is awesome. Be safe and say hi to your man for us, okay?” Momo patted him on the shoulder, gave him a squeeze around the waist, and then left Makki to say his goodbyes. Hanamaki stared at Matsukawa, at a loss for words, his brows drawn and lips pressed together so tightly they were white.

            “I’m not leaving forever.”

            “I know.” Makki sniffed, and then dropped his voice. “Then why does it feel like you are?” Matsu parted his lips to reply, but no sound came out. He shut his mouth for a moment.

            “God, you’re so overdramatic,” The laugh was just short of sincere, but Makki understood him well enough. Takahiro buried his face is Issei’s neck, chuckling, his arms wrapped tightly around his best friend.

            “And you’re a dick. Now go away. I’m sick of your face.” Matsu let Makki shove him away with a hand on his face, bashfully making eye contact.

            “Okay, yeah, security’s going to be awful. Momo, take care of this idiot. Lord knows he can’t do it himself.”

            “Why don’t you tell me that, hm? Momo is-“

            “Momo is an adult.” Matsu shrugged, winking at a giggling Momo.

            “And you do take care of me. For all of your idiotic bravado, you’re pretty sweet.” Makki flushed a red not previously present in nature.

            “Gross.” Makki and Matsu echoed, chortling unattractively. Momo rolled her eyes at them.

 

            Matsu checked his phone as he left security, smiling at the group thread.

 

            **Have a safe trip, Issei.**

            So formal, Iwa-chan!

            **Why are you texting me back?**

**You’re sitting right next to me.**

You just texted /me/ back, darling!! uwu

_aw young love_

_**You’re all ridiculous.**_

Have a safe trip~~

            Please text us when you get to Austraaaaalia ＼(^ω^＼)

            **_Thank you, and I will._**

**_We’re about to board, so I’ll talk to you later, alright?_ **

**Bye.**

Bye!! Please be safe!!

           

            In a separate window, he received a message from Takahiro. Matsu’s cheeks warmed.

 

_have a safe trip okay_

_gonna miss you_

_you giant weirdo_

**_I’ll miss you too._ **

**_You little shit._ **

_um excuse me_

_i am flawless_

**_I hope Momo reads these and laughs at you._ **

_of course_

_my girlfriend would side with you_

_both traitors_

_with huge eyebrows_

_and too much sass for their own good_

**_Says you._ **

_i resent you_

**_I love you too._ **

_yeah yeah_

 

 

           Hours later, Matsu was sitting on the plane, his head resting by the window. He stared out wistfully at the landscape of rolling white clouds for quite some time and then let his eyes droop closed. The sleep he slipped into wasn’t restful, but if nothing else, it offered a distraction from his conflicted thoughts. It wouldn’t have done him any good to let the seed of doubt germinate, anyway.

 

 

 

            He pulled out his notebook at the airport as he waited to get picked up. Matsu had some inspiration after a months-long dry spell, but unfortunately Ichiro arrived before he had a chance to pencil it all down. Checking the time on his phone, he remarked that Ichiro was over an hour late, but he supposed there was a good reason for that too.  Despite his initial irritation, Issei felt a sense of relief when Ichiro embraced him, his familiar scent reassuring in brand new surroundings. In the car on the way back, Matsu watched the scenery blur by with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension; the whole trip still felt like a vacation, though a nagging voice in the back of his head kept reminding him it wasn’t. The rising worry faded slightly when Ichiro’s fingers twined with his on the console, and his breathing evened.

            “Welcome home, Issei.” Ichiro rubbed the back of Issei’s hand with his thumb, smiling warmly.

 

 

 

            “Takahiro.” Momo nudged her boyfriend, distracting him from his staring match with his phone.

            “What?” He snapped. She pursed her lips at him, clearly unimpressed with his tone.

            “He’s fine.”

            “He hasn’t texted me back in days.”

            “He’s _fine_. He just moved to another country. He’s got a lot of stuff to think about and do, yeah?”

            “But-“

            “Stop whining and eat. Your food’s getting cold.”

            “Okay.”

 

 

 

 

           Matsu sat down in the middle of his new home, surrounded by haphazardly placed boxes. The movers had arrived a week previous, but he had been much too overwhelmed to put everything away immediately. The apartment building they had moved into was just off of a busy road in the downtown area, surrounded by other new high rises. His anxiety could have easily been attributed to the sudden increase in noise outside his window every night, but he knew there was something deeper. Matsu knew that he should be happy to be starting his future with the love of his life, exploring this new place, and yet, he felt perpetually surrounded by a cloud of melancholy. The weather always seemed to be warm, though often rainy, but Matsu hadn’t yet ventured out on his own quite yet. He stared out the window, mug of tea in hand, and tried to work up the mental strength to go for a walk.

 

            By the end of the week, all Matsukawa had managed to put away was a measly three boxes. He spent the better part of his time lying in bed, staring at his writing notebook. Late one such afternoon, his phone buzzed.

           

            _okay so_

_tell me about the australians_

_are they weird_

_winged_

_webbed feet_

_a foot tall_

_well i just described a goose_

_im assuming they arent all geese_

_did a goose fly your plane_

_all of a sudden im not feeling good about your safety_

_please report back with your status_

_dont let the geese get you in the meantime_

            He started laughing at the steady stream of texts, but before he had a chance to reply, Ichiro came home.

            “Aren’t you gonna come see me?” Ichiro called from the doorway and Issei clambered to his feet, leaving the phone on his pillow. Issei had hardly had time to get to his feet before his boyfriend appeared in the doorway, loosening his tie.

            “Oh, I was just about to-.” Matsu curled into himself self-consciously, realizing he hadn’t even gotten out of his pyjamas.

            “Did you get out of bed today?”

            “No-“

            “Issei, you can’t just lie around all day. I’m at work, making money for the both of us, and what are you doing?”

            “I just- I’m sorry. I was so tired.”

            “All you _do_ is sleep! How are you tired?” Issei could hardly conjure up an explanation; Ichiro was right. His exhaustion had no rhyme or reason to it, but it had been steadily increasing over the past months. He remained silent, holding eye contact with Ichiro and trying to convey how truly _sorry_ he felt. “Could you at least make dinner? I’m really hungry.”

            “Yeah, okay.” Shoulders rounded, Matsu went into the kitchen. If there was one thing in his life that had improved over the past few years, it was his cooking skill. Cooking for Ichiro and himself had become a routine from early in their relationship, and all that practice had really helped. He chopped some onions and snorted, remembering one of the many times he and Makki had tried to make a recipe off the internet. They had managed to butcher a simple broth because neither had bothered to measure the ingredients properly. Matsu remembered Makki’s shrieked ‘how did we burn _broth_?’ and how he had come in to find his friend staring into a saucepan, a broken man. They had both laughed for days about it.

            Once Matsu was done with the onions, he turned on the radio for accompaniment while he continued preparing vegetables. He hummed along to some catchy tune as he worked, not noticing that Ichiro had snuck up behind him.

             “Issei?” Matsu almost jumped out of his skin at the voice.

             “Hoooly shit, you scared me!”

             “Takahiro’s texted you again.” He spat, holding Issei’s phone between two fingers and waving it back and forth. Issei resented Ichiro’s use of Takahiro’s first name since he had never made an effort to become familiar enough with the man to use it.

             “Yeah, he does that. It’s almost like we’re friends.”

             “He sent _fifteen_ messages.”

             “I haven’t texted him in two weeks.”

             “So? I don’t text my friends very often.” Ichiro gestured with the phone.

             “You’re not nearly as close with your friends as I am, Ichiro. I’m trying to text less, like you said, but all it’s doing is making it seem like I don’t want to talk to them.”

             “They’ll get over it. We’re in a new place now, and we can make new friends together. You don’t need to cling to your old life so intensely, Issei. You need to realize that you need to be more in this relationship and not so tangled with all your old friends.”

             “Do you honestly think I’m going to just forget about them?” Matsu dropped the knife onto the cutting board with a loud clatter, turning to face Ichiro with anger burning in his eyes.

             “I keep trying to make you realize that you’re a better person without them.”

             “Get out, please, I can’t do this right now.” Issei returned to his task and picked the knife up.

             “Why do resist every attempt I make to help you be better?”

             “Are you _kidding_?”

             “No. Why would I be kidding?”

             “Please leave, Ichiro. I’m going to say something I regret if you stay here next to me.” Matsu angrily chopped more vegetables, tossing them into a wok and adamantly avoiding eye contact with the warm body in his personal space. His jaw started to hurt from how hard he was gritting his teeth, but the pain grounded him and kept him from saying any number of awful things that his mind wanted said.

             “If you have something to say, I’d rather you be honest.” Ichiro stood his ground, crossing his arms across his chest in defiance.

             “ _Please_.” Matsu pleaded, continuing to make a stir fry with an intensity that scared even him.

             “We’re going to talk this out now or never.”

             “Can we do never?”

             “I’m really disappointed that you don’t want to have open communication with me, Issei.”

             “That’s not it _at all_. I’m just- can I at least finish making dinner?”

             “Fine.” Ichiro stepped out, leaving Issei to stew in his feelings. Now that he was alone with his thoughts, Matsu started feeling queasy. The thought of eating sickened him, but he busied himself with dinner regardless. Ichiro was hungry and making him food was the least he could do after having wasted yet another day.

             After dinner, Ichiro gave Issei a piece of his mind. All Issei really had the energy for, by that point, was to nod, apologize, then curl up into bed. He twisted the corner of his pillowcase, staring at the wall the bed was pushed up against, and waited for the weight to shift on the other side of the mattress. When Ichiro finally joined him, Matsu whispered a quiet good night, and shivered when soft lips pressed up against the base of his neck.

 

_hey_

_youre going to be coming back for new years right_

_my mom was wondering_

_because she loves you more than me_

_she also loves momo more than me_

_shes so excited to spend more time with her_

_and you_

_vomit_

             Read 14:19

 

 

 

              Hanamaki was at his breaking point. He and Iwaizumi had been studying since what felt like dawn, and his mind was super-saturated. He looked up from his stack of papers and thought he caught a glint off of Iwaizumi’s shirt. Makki furrowed his brow, slipping off his reading glasses to focus on the distracting shine. What he had thought was a strange sequined pattern on Hajime’s shirt was actually a silver band hanging off of a necklace.

              “Hajime.” Makki said, lips curved around the pen between his teeth.

              “What?” Hajime replied, eyes still carefully perusing his textbook.

              “What the fuck is that around your neck?” Iwaizumi froze, head tilting to meet Hanamaki’s gaze. Makki was smirking and gnawing on his pen while he waited for Hajime to mumble out a response. Hajime looked away.

              “It’s nothing.” The pink creeping up his neck said otherwise.

              “If I were to, say, text Tooru right now and ask him to take a picture of himself, would I find a matching ring around his neck?”

              “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

              “I cannot _believe_ you didn’t tell me! You’re joking! How long have we been friends and you didn’t tell me you got _engaged_ to my other closest friend?” Makki flung his pen at Iwaizumi’s head, not really expecting for it to make contact. It bounced off Iwaizumi’s forehead and landed on the table with a plastic clatter.

              “It’s not an engagement ring.” Iwaizumi leaned his chin on his hand and finally made eye contact with Hanamaki again.

              “It’s just a ring that matches the one that your soulmate wears. Right.” Iwaizumi squirmed and Makki snorted, starting to laugh. “Is it a promise ring, then?”

              “Yeah, something like that.” He scratched the back of his neck, a shy smile lighting up his entire face.

              “I’m happy for you two, honestly. Aw, you’re so adorable when you smile, Hajime.” Makki found himself on the receiving end of a projectile and dove behind the table to avoid it.

               “Hey, want to go to that craft store whose name I can’t pronounce? They have those pens that I was looking up online.” Matsu turned his laptop screen towards Ichiro, who flicked his eyes from the tv for the briefest of moments.

                “I don’t really want to.”

                “Okay, I’ll go get them. I won’t be long. Well, I hope not. Depends on how well public transit decides to respect their own timetables.” Matsukawa chuckled, getting up and grabbing a pair of pants from the closet.

                “I don’t want you to go by yourself, Issei.”

                “Well, if you don’t want to go, then how else am I supposed to go? I’m okay. I’ve taken the bus a few times already. Sometimes I can even pronounce ‘thank you’ correctly!” He grinned, wriggling into the jeans. They slipped off his hips and crumpled on the floor after he fastened the button. “Oops. Maybe I should get some pants while I’m at it.” Ichiro looked up.

                “We can go tomorrow.”

                Issei waved him off lazily. “It’s okay, I can go today and just get it done. Don’t worry about it. I’d rather go and not put you through the misery of having to deal with me trying on every pair of jeans in existence.”

                “No, I’d rather you not go alone, okay?”

                “Really, it’s fine. It’s time for baby bird to take flight and stop being a lazy shit.”

                “You’re not going without me!” In any other situation, Matsu standing in his underwear with buttoned pants pooled around his ankles would have been hilarious.

                “Okay.” He murmured, changing back into his sweatpants and plopping down on the couch. Ichiro rested his hand on Issei’s knee and changed the channel back to some inane series.

                “You can wait until tomorrow, and then I’ll drive you.”

                “I’ll get my license soon, I promise.”

                “Sure.”

 

 

_oikawa came to visit for obon_

_we all went home together_

_he really likes his team_

_they like his silly ass_

_as all people do_

_he and iwa exchanged some dorky promise rings_

_or something_

_its so cute its disgusting_

_momo keeps cooing about them_

Read 06:34

 

 

 

 

            Ichiro had the unfortunate habit of using half of the kitchen’s dishes when eating, which was normally amusing to Issei; however, when it came to actually cleaning up the aftermath, it was decidedly less of a joke.

            “Hey, how long have the dishes been in the sink?” Ichiro called from the kitchen. Issei lifted his head from the couch and peered in.

            “I’m not sure. When did you last eat cereal with twelve bowls?” Matsu snorted at his own joke, but the ensuing silence meant it wasn’t well received. His jokes often weren’t.

            “It’s going to start smelling soon. Why haven’t you done it?”

            “Ichiro, most of that is yours from this weekend.”

            “And?”

            “I always do the dishes? And the laundry? And the cleaning?”

            “Is that why our place is always a mess?”

            “Um, no?”

            “Honestly, you could pull your own weight. I work all day long, so you may as well be doing something.”

            “I’ve been trying to find some freelance work, but in case you’ve forgotten, I _can’t_ work in Australia yet. I would be if I could. You _know_ it’s frustrating for me because I can’t contribute, so stop making me feel like shit when I can’t. I know you work hard. I get it.” Matsu pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

            “Do you, though?”

            “I’ll do the fucking dishes. Honestly.” Matsu got to his feet, tired of the argument already.

            “Could you do that without swearing?”

            “No.” He knew it was a very petulant reply, but Issei thought it was appropriate given the way he was being treated.

            “Issei.” Ichiro adopted his favourite chiding tone, but Matsu nudged him out of the way of the sink.

            “Ichiro.”

            “Whatever.” Ichiro stormed out of the kitchen and holed himself up in the office. Matsu scoffed, knowing he’d be apologizing for this, too.

 

 

  

            “Is this right?” Momo clasped her hands together in front of her chest, squatting. Makki made a choked noise in his throat to avoid giggling at her posture.

            “Mmm, not quite.” Gently placing his hands on her lower back and fists, he positioned her properly. “That’s better. Your weight should be on the balls of your feet, and you’re going to push _through_ the ball when you contact it. The motion doesn’t stop when it hits here,” Makki pointed to her forearms. She nodded, her tongue stuck out as she concentrated on remembering everything he had said. Makki gently tossed the ball in her direction and Momo swung her arms upwards like she was trying to decapitate a volleyball despot.

            “Well. The good news is that the ceiling is still intact.” Makki curled in on himself, laughing as Momo leapt on him and they both tumbled to the gym floor.

            “I told you I don’t sport very well! You’re such a noodle! Stop laughing at me!” Makki picked her up, feeling her laughter shake his arms as he carried her over to the ball bin. “Nooooooo, Takahiro-“ He stopped just short of dropping her among the other volleyballs and let her down, kissing her on the forehead.

            “Wanna see if you can take out one of the overhead lights with your next one?” Momo smacked her guffawing boyfriend upside the head and grabbed another ball.

           

 

 

            _momo played volleyball today_

_shes so damn cute_

_not gifted in sports_

_(she just threw something at me for that)_

_but she tried and that means a lot_

_(yeeeeah ive redeemed myself)_

 

             Read 23:56

 

 

            Ichiro had started working extremely late hours, leaving Issei alone for most of the day. Matsu was still terrified of leaving the house because he wasn’t the most confident in his English. Despite the fact that he was reading the books Makki had bought him as a going away present, he didn’t feel like he was making enough progress to comfortably make it through any social interaction. He had started going out for walks in the neighbourhood, but it still intimidated him to no end; knowing he couldn’t even complete a sentence on his own was enough to send him straight back into his bed.

Matsu couldn’t recognize his own face most mornings because his entire countenance felt like it was drooping. Whether it was the lighting in their bathroom or the fact that his skin was inexplicably greying, Matsu couldn’t really say. It didn’t help his mood that his phone had no messages outside of Ichiro’s incessant texts; he hadn’t gotten a text from Makki in weeks.

 

 

 

            “Ya-hoooo~”

            “Hey, Tooru.” Hanamaki’s voice was flat, a side effect of him trying to hide his concern.

            “Are you okay? I’m not used to anyone but Hajime calling me!” Oikawa sounded cheery as always.

            “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m-have you heard from Matsu at all? All of my messages keep getting read, but he hasn’t replied in weeks.”

            “Oh. Um, I texted him last week and it took him a few days, but he replied.”

            Makki’s heart sank. “Oh.”

            “I think he’s just been busy settling in. I wouldn’t think too much about it.”

            “You forget that I can hear you worrying.” Hanamaki teased and Oikawa pouted audibly.

            “Do you want me to send him a message? Have you tried facebook?”

            “You know he doesn’t check that.”

            “I’ll send him a text, okay? Let me know if he replies.”

            “Thanks.”

            “Of course!”

 

           

           

_matsu_

_why wont you love me_

_love meeeee_

_i need to know about the aus geese_

_DO THEY HAVE GEESE_

            Makki kept checking his phone religiously in the lab, keeping it close by under the guise of using it as a timer. He wasn’t holding his breath for a reply, but his hope still burned brightly.

 

**_First of all, there are no geese people._ **

**_I’m sorry to burst your bubble._ **

****

              “Did your girlfriend text you, Hanamaki-kun? You’re smiling so much!” One of his lab mates teased as she walked by his lab bench.

              Caught off-guard by her presence, he juggled several words before deciding on a very dignified, “Nyo. I mean, no. My friend just sent me something funny.”

               “Ah.” Giving him a knowing look, she disappeared around the corner. Makki whipped his head back around to see if Matsu had sent anything else.

 

**_But, Australia’s really gorgeous. It’s spring right now, so the weather’s been nice._ **

**_The apartment is kinda half-unpacked…I’ve been too lazy to do anything._ **

**_Ichiro seems to like his job, and I’m still a bum._ **

**_Which is fine because you cannot believe how many shows I have gone through._ **

****

                Makki let his lab know he was taking a lunch break (at 5 pm), and he yanked off his gloves, and headed outside. His experiment wasn’t going to need attention for another few hours, anyway. Though it was still warm outside, the wind spoke of fall’s impending chill. Makki walked briskly over to the nearest cafeteria so he could at least pretend he had gone to eat.

_unpacking is the worst thing in the world_

_avoid it as long as you can_

**_We unpacked everything the day after we moved in!_ **

_thats because we couldnt find the ps3_

_**Good point. Have you been playing it at all?**_

**** _not really_

_im usually in the lab or with momo_

_or studying with angryface closetromantic-kun_

**_Oh my god. Yeah, so what? They got engaged??_ **

_they insist theyre just promise rings_

**_What are they, 12?_ **

_thats illegal matsu_

_gross_

**_You’re such a sack of dicks._ **

_takes one to know one_

**_…_ **

**_I've missed you._ **

_ew_

_no_

_feelings are for airports_

_…_

_i still miss you_

**_Hypocrite._ **

_youre a piece of garbage_

**_Ah, but the prettiest piece of garbage._ **

_wow you move to aus and all of a sudden you think youre better than the rest of us_

_hey_

**_Hey._ **

_shut up_

_anyway_

_have you been getting my texts_

**_We’ve just had a conversation, so yes?_ **

_dipshit_

_no_

_i mean before_

_i sent you a bunch because im needy af_

**_Tooru said something about that, but I didn’t get any of them._ **

_it said they were read_

_but then no reply_

_so I just_

            Makki tried to figure out how to phrase that he had been worried without explicitly stating it.

****

**_Wait, they were read?_ **

_uh_

_yeah_

_i just thought you were over my attempts to aggressively love you_

_from a distance_

**_No. That definitely wasn’t it. I’m sorry…_ **

_its ok_

**_No, it’s not. I’ll text you back in a bit._ **

_K_

_before you go_

_wanna skype at some point_

_i need to remember your ugly face_

**_Yeah, what’s the earliest you can do?_ **

_in the day_

**_Yeah._ **

            _probably around 5 pm my time_

_i can make sure to be done at the lab by then_

_**Wanna say Tuesday at 5?**_

_yep_

 

             As the seasons changed, Matsukawa got used to his constant headaches and tension, accepting them as his new baseline. After a particularly heated argument a few months after they had move in, Ichiro had managed to convince him to unpack all the boxes and finish decorating the apartment, so at least he wasn’t sitting among the clutter anymore. Not that it made much difference in the greater scope of his emotional state.

             His days started with him sleeping in until the afternoon, then moving to the couch to watch shows on the t.v., where he would doze off. Matsu only ate when he didn’t feel disgusted by food, which wasn’t often enough to slow his anxiety-induced weight loss, but he would try. He would periodically summon the energy to make dinner in time for Ichiro’s return home, but it seemed like even that wasn’t enough to make him happy. He would silently hope for Ichiro’s workday to run long so he wouldn’t have to come up with excuses for why he hadn’t gotten anything done that day. The days ran into weeks, which ran into months, all punctuated with arguments he couldn’t win because somehow the blame always fell on him.

 

           

           

 

 

            One day in mid-November, Issei woke up full of energy, and started his day with a run. Feeling the runner’s high well after his workout, he cleaned the apartment, wrote a few thousand words, made lunch and had his afternoon tea out on the balcony. The sun prickled his skin pleasantly, and he smiled into the breeze. His life seemed brighter all of a sudden, his future a little bit clearer. Even searching for freelancing jobs didn’t hold the stress it normally did. Ichiro came home to a hot meal, and the two of them enjoyed a dinner without a single argument. Once Matsu had cleared the table and done the dishes, he was still riding a high he hadn’t felt in months. He snuck up on Ichiro in their walk-in closet, grabbing his tie and starting to loosen it. Matsu carefully placed the tie on a shelf and then began slowly undoing Ichiro’s buttons, biting his lip coyly. Ichiro watched him with an expression that was almost neutral, save for one raised eyebrow. He allowed Matsu to slip the shirt off his arms and pull his undershirt off over his head. Issei kneeled in front of him, taking Ichiro’s slacks down with him and smirking deviously. He grabbed hold of Ichiro’s hips, leaning into the hand tugging at his curls. Matsu’s smile grew wider as he yanked down the underwear and got to work.

            Issei wiped his mouth, grinning triumphantly up at his sated boyfriend.

            “I think I’ve gotten pretty good at blow jobs, hm?” He stood, and tugged Ichiro’s hand to get him over to the bed.          

            “Don’t think that being good for one day means you get anything in return, Issei.”

            “What?” Matsu said in a disbelieving tone, his hands falling limply to his sides.

            “You have to earn it!”

            “But-” Issei sighed, resigned, and left the bedroom.        

 

 

            Hanamaki finished cleaning the last of his glassware, peeled off his gloves and cracked his back. He had been bent over the bench in the fume hood for hours and his body had even given up on protesting actively. Every muscle thrummed with a quiet, lingering ache, and Makki felt each one as he hung up his lab coat and threw on his jacket. Glancing at his phone’s screen was perfunctory when he locked the lab; he wasn’t expecting any messages at one in the morning, so the four texts sitting in his inbox surprised him.

 

            **_Are you busy tonight?_**

**_I really need to talk to you._ **

**_I mean, not if you’re tired._ **

**_Call me when you have a moment, please._ **

****

            Melbourne was an hour ahead, which made it a bad time to call most normal people. However, considering Matsu’s severely disrupted sleeping habits and the fact that he had texted just after midnight, Makki figured he’d be safe in dialing the number. He scowled when the call was rejected due to the fact he had forgotten to add the country code. He tried again.

            “’Hiro?”

            “Hey, what’s happening? Are you okay?” A cold sweat trickled down Makki’s back at Matsu’s tone.

            “Yeah, well, I mean, I am but I’m also really not.”

            “Um, not okay in what way? Don’t scare me, Issei.” Hanamaki sat down on a bench by his train stop, nearly missing it in his haste. Matsukawa took a shaky breath and Hanamaki gripped his phone harder instinctively.

            “I bought my ticket to come home for New Year.”

            “Oh! Wait, does that mean we have to spend time together? Gross.” While that comment would have normally elicited some sort of guffaw or insult, Matsu was silent.

            “Yeah. It’s one way. I haven’t told him yet.”

            “Oh, okay-wait. Waitwaitwait. What?” Makki furrowed his brow.

            “I’m coming home.”

            “Okay.”

            “You can go to bed, though. I feel really bad for keeping you up, Takahiro. I’m sorry.” Matsu sounded so distant, both physically and emotionally.

            “I just got out of the lab, it’s fine. If you want to talk, please talk. I’ve always got time for you.”

            “Don’t say that.”

            “Why?”

            “Because I don’t deserve it. Go to bed, Makki.” The words squeezed Takahiro’s heart painfully. How could someone as deserving as Issei think so little of himself?

            “I’m waiting for the train. I couldn’t if I wanted to. I’m not a bum.” That comment earned a chuckle.

            “The past seven months have been awful. Actually, the past couple of years have been. It’s all been bad, I just didn’t realize it. It got worse and worse and I woke up yesterday morning and realized something needed to change. My best days are when he’s on a business trip because I don’t have to see him. Do you know how fucked up that is? The person you love is the last person you want to spend time with?”

            “I’m sorry.”

            “I did this to myself. You were all right. I was just too infatuated to notice. God, I was so stupid. I am stupid. I’m still here. I’m _upset_ because I love him and he’s- I do everything I can to make him happy and it’s never enough. He only notices when I haven’t done something, and then I have to deal with hours of being berated like I’m a _child_.” Issei paused briefly after his voice broke. Takahiro silently thanked him for not having asked to Skype. He was pretty sure that he would have been the one to cry first.

            “You can’t beat yourself up for this, okay?”

            “It’s hard not to. Fuck. And I’ve been so unmotivated since we moved. I can’t get out of bed, I can’t eat, I can’t do anything. I want to, but I _can’t_. And-please don’t freak out- but it turns out that he’s been the one checking and deleting your messages.” Hanamaki steeled himself with a long, slow breath, though he could have sworn his phone cracked in his grip.

            “What.”

            “Yeah. He hates that I stay in contact with you. Less so with Tooru and Hajime, but still.” Matsukawa went quiet. Hanamaki was breathing heavily, rage clouding his vision. He was definitely not going to mention any of this to Iwaizumi because he knew that Ichiro would be dead by morning. He was going to have to tell Oikawa and have him temper the flames. “’Hiro?”

            “Sorry, I’m just seething. When is your flight back?”

            “December 15th.”

            “Okay. Lemme know when you’re going to be landing. I’ll come get you.”

            “You don’t have to.”

            “Of course I will, you idiot.”

            “Hey, ‘Hiro?”

            “Mhm?”

            “Thanks.”

            “For what?”

            “Everything.”

            “Always. Now get some sleep and call me if you need me.”

            “Okay. Good night.”

            “Night.” Hanamaki shoved his phone in his pocket and hid his face in his hands. There was a special place in hell for people that made kind and easy-going Matsukawa feel worthless and small. Hanamaki chewed on a nail, frantically texting Oikawa with the other hand.

           

            Hanamaki counted down the days on his calendar. Everyone around him had noticed how distracted he was, even his supervisor, though they didn’t pry when he avoided questions.

 

 

 

            Makki stood at the terminal’s exit, gnawing on the skin of his thumb. He was nervous and sweaty, a little afraid of how he would find Matsu. They had gone through some rough patches together, but he had no way of anticipating what his friend would be like after the collapse of an almost five year relationship. He had sounded too levelheaded on the phone, like he had been using all of his energy to keep from breaking down. The ‘en route’ on the screen changed to ‘arrived’ and Makki’s heart started hammering. He took off his sweater despite the cold outside and tried to calm down. He absolutely had to be Matsu’s anchor, no matter what. He kept sweating and nervously chewing his hangnail as the ‘arrived’ changed to ‘in customs.’

 

**_I’m just waiting for my suitcase._ **

**_I’m pretty sure they hired senior citizens to haul our stuff, it’s taking so long._ **

_you should hurry up_

_i cant say youre worth the wait_

**_Suck it up, buttercup._ **

**_I know you’ve missed all this hotness._ **

_is that what were calling it_

 

            Matsu’s replies stopped coming, and despite his irrational worry, Makki managed to convince himself Matsu was alright. Ten minutes later, Issei walked through the exit, hauling a large suitcase and a backpack. He scanned the crowd, brow furrowed, and smiled brightly enough to light the room when his eyes landed on Makki. Once he had gotten out of everyone’s way, Matsu left his suitcase and ran at Makki, arms open. Hanamaki’s heart swelled as he took his first steps, welcoming Matsukawa into his arms like his missing half. They collided roughly, knocking the breath out of each other’s lungs.

            “I’ve missed you so much. So much, Matsu.” Makki breathed into Matsu’s hair, feeling him squeeze back in response.

            Matsu’s voice wavered helplessly. “I missed you too.” They hung onto each other’s jackets, breathing raggedly from all the emotions that they were too scared to voice.

            “Okay, we should- let’s go get some food, yeah?” Hanamaki looked down at Matsukawa’s hands when he pulled away, seeing how thin they seemed to be. He reached towards one, stroking from the wrist down to the tips of his purpling fingers. Matsu’s eyes followed the gesture and he felt his anxiety start receding from the simple touch. He leaned into Makki’s shoulder. All of the stress and the chaos from his decision to leave Ichiro was swimming to the surface and Matsu was struggling to keep himself from tearing at the seams. Hanamaki’s presence had a way of opening him up and breaking down his barriers without even trying; Matsukawa wasn’t even sure that Makki knew that about himself. Makki observed Matsu from the corner of his eye, _igniting_ when he made eye contact. He was so happy that Issei had finally come home.

             They bantered on the way to the car, laughing like they had before everything had gotten difficult. Matsu went to sit while Makki threw the over-packed suitcase into his trunk and dropped into the driver’s seat, cheeks hurting from how broad his grin was. He turned to Matsu to poke fun at how heavy the suitcase was, but his face fell immediately. Issei’s face was buried in his hands, and his shoulders were shaking with his sobs. Takahiro had seen Issei cry before, but not like this. His body shook down to his bones. Takahiro felt helpless sitting in the driver’s seat, so he got out, flinging open the passenger door and awkwardly jostling in next to Issei. He enveloped Matsu as best as he could, tangling a hand in his hair and nudging Matsu’s head to his shoulder. Matsu pried his hands away from his face, grabbing hold of Makki’s sweater and tugging him closer. He continued sobbing and hiccupping quietly, the intensity fading as Hanamaki rubbed his back, softly murmuring into his hair.

              “I’m here, okay? I’m here.”

              “’Hiro, please tell me that I did the right thing.” Matsu sniffled, finally loosening his vice-like grip on Makki. Takahiro reached out and wiped the tears off Issei’s face with the cuff of his hoodie.

              “I can’t tell you that because it wasn’t my relationship, but I can sit here and talk about it with you. If you’re happy, though, I am too.” Matsu sighed shakily, dropping his head on Makki’s bicep.

              “How about we go home? I just- all I want to do is go to bed.”

              “Yeah, sure. I’ll put you to bed, you big baby.”

              “Thanks.” Makki disentangled himself and got out of the car, slipping into the driver’s side. Matsukawa grabbed onto his hand on the gearshift as they drove and Hanamaki returned the squeeze, glassy eyes still on the road.

               In the darkened apartment, Makki helped Matsu out of his jacket and ushered him into the bedroom.

              “If you don’t wanna go through your stuff, you can just borrow some of my clothes, okay?”

              “Yeah, thanks.”

              “Do you want me to make you some tea?” Matsu nodded, pulling off his sweater and tossing it on the side of the bed.

               Makki was boiling water and rummaging around his cupboards for Matsu’s favourite mug when a hand on his hip startled him. He turned and found himself face to face with Matsu.

               “Sorry, I was trying not to freak you out.”

               “You just didn’t want me to break your favourite mug.” Makki teased, placing the mug in his hands.

               Matsu’s fingers curled around it, chuckling at the awful design. “True. I only came over for that, anyway. Your company is an unfortunate side effect.”

               “Dick.” Makki hip-checked the utensil drawer closed.

               “Asshole.” Matsu leaned against the counter, getting in Makki’s personal space. Hanamaki took a step back, lest he lean in and-

               “Mouth.” Takahiro blurted, startled by the sudden whistling of the teakettle.

               “I guess that was the next logical step.”

               Red-faced, Makki poured the hot water into the mug. “It was, yes.” Matsu slid his mug onto the counter, curling his arms around Makki’s shoulders. Hanamaki leaned his head on Matsukawa’s, embracing him. They stood in silence until an obnoxious buzzing attracted their attention. Matsu pulled his phone out of his pocket and froze, the colour draining from his face in an instant. Makki looked at the screen, then slowly pried Matsu’s fingers away from the device. He turned it off and put it on the counter.

               “Go shower and sleep on it?” Issei nodded sadly, starting to collapse under the weight of his own decision. He crossed his arms, trying to shut the world out physically, like a barrier to his troubles. Takahiro picked out some clothes for him to wear and started running the water in the bathroom before nudging Issei inside. He sat outside of the door, head hung low, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. It was all he could do keep it together after watching Matsu break in front of him.

                After his shower, red-eyed and exhausted, Matsukawa let himself be guided into Hanamaki’s bed. He made himself small beneath the covers, closing his eyes when he felt Makki’s hand rubbing circles on his back. The simple gesture was enough for the lump in his throat to return. Hanamaki, on the other hand, couldn’t believe that he could feel Matsukawa’s ribs beneath his fingers, his hipbones beneath his palm. He had been so strong once. Takahiro kept his breath even until Issei was snoring and only then did he allow himself to set up his futon and fall into a fitful sleep.

 

  

 

                Matsu woke the next afternoon feeling marginally more refreshed until the terrible reality of his situation set in. His breathing picked up and the familiar pangs of guilt began to eat away at him, cruelly tearing him away from whatever rest he had enjoyed the previous night. He closed his eyes, but that only served to make him dizzy and queasy.

                “No-nonono, please not again,” Matsu moaned quietly to himself, desperate for the constricting feeling to fade. Hanamaki stood in the doorway, face contorted with worry, but he knew Matsukawa would only feel worse if he knew that he’d been seen. After a few minutes, Takahiro entered the room carefully, taking a seat next to Issei.

                 “Good morning,” He said, handing him a mug of tea. Issei attempted a smile as he took the drink from Takahiro, but the gesture just hurt his head. The two sat in silence until Makki stood and opened the blinds to let the sun in. He squatted in front of Matsu, placing his hands on his pyjama-clad knees. He peered up into Matsu’s dark eyes.

                 “What do you need?” Makki inquired carefully, voice barely above a whisper.

                 Completely honestly, Matsukawa replied, “I don’t know.”

                 “I made breakfast, okay? Come eat something.”

                 “I’m not hungry, ‘Hiro. Thanks, though.”

                 “Wanna come sit with me while I eat?”

                 “Yeah.”

                 “You’ll get through this.”

                 “Yeah.”

 

                  A frantic knocking sounded in the apartment, and Makki quickly walked over to answer the door. He regretted opening it the moment he caught sight of the last person he ever wanted to see standing before him.


	10. safe in monotony, day after day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! Look at me being productive before school starts again this week. I likely won't have nearly as much time to be writing over the next few months, so just keep that in mind. I'll try my best, but the struggle is real. 
> 
> Once again, thanks so much to everyone that has left comments and kudos; the comments especially keep me going. Please don't ever apologize for leaving me paragraphs (coherent, yelling or otherwise) because I eat that shit up. I love it so much, seriously. Y'all are wonderful and I appreciate you so much <3
> 
> (Fun fact: in the ten chapters I've written so far, I've said 'fuck' a total of 98 times and 'shit' 71. Do with that what you will.)

“Is Issei there?” Ichiro stood on Makki’s doormat, worse for wear, scrubbing tears out of his eyes. It was the first time Hanamaki had ever seen him look _human_ rather than robotically detached. His skin was flushed, maybe from a run, and Hanamaki was sure that he would feel sorry for him if he were any other person. Given the circumstances, Makki’s gaze was as frigid as a winter wind. He could only assume that Ichiro had heard his exchanges with Issei, so he wasn’t in a position to lie about his presence in the apartment, but Takahiro was willing to skirt honesty for his best friend.

“No.” Makki answered coolly, bodily blocking the sliver of apartment visible from the door.

“Please, I really need to talk to him.” Takahiro still had no compassion for Ichiro’s pleas. The only thing that would make him move would be express permission from Issei.

“’Hiro, is that Ichiro? Can you please let him in?” Matsukawa’s voice sounded with a desperate relief that made bile rise in Makki’s throat. He muttered a quiet ‘yes’ and let the door swing open. Takahiro watched Issei carefully approach Ichiro, cowed like a lesser being, arms wrapped around himself. Ichiro still stood proudly, despite everything he had done; his unwavering stance made rage burn beneath Makki’s skin. He believed Ichiro should be on his _knees_ , at the very least, in Hell, ideally. Though it was tempting to stand in the living room and supervise Ichiro’s apology speech, Makki ducked out, locking the apartment door on his way back to the bedroom. He closed the door behind him and lay down on the rumpled sheets that smelled of Matsu, praying this would turn out for the best.

 

_/he/ is here_

_im sitting in the bedroom creepily while they talk_

_i swear on everything in my life i will set that fuckface on FIRE if i hear Issei start crying again_

_hajime fucking stop me_

_im going to commit murder_

_i will kill a man today_

**Calm down.**

**You’re not going to help anyone by kicking ichiro’s ass.**

**I’m fucking pissed, too.**

**Baseball bat, pissed.**

**Breaking every single of his bones, pissed.**

**I will name each and every one as it shatters, pissed.**

_what if he goes back_

_what the hell do we do then_

**We stand by him as best we can, Takahiro.**

_is that it??????_

_is that all we do while he gets the life sucked out of him??????_

_does that not make us just as shitty????????_

**Stop being an idiot.**

**If he goes back, it means he still wants to be in a relationship with the piece of shit.**

**Who are we to stop them?**

**That won’t help at all and you know it.**

_i want him to come home_

_i just want him to be okay_

**You’re not the only one.**

Makki let his phone slip out of his limp hand and draped his other arm across his face. He gulped down lungfuls of air in hopes of settling his fury, but the more he heard the wavering in Matsu’s cadence, the more incensed he felt. None of the words were distinguishable at this distance, but the tone was clear enough.

Hours later, Matsu rocked Makki awake. Makki blinked rapidly, his brain working to catch up with the rest of his body. His stomach growled. There was a brief flash of hope in his eyes when he remembered what had happened prior to his nap, but Matsu soon extinguished it.

“You must be starving. I’m really sorry that took so long, Makki. Ichiro and I are gonna go get some lunch - want me to bring anything back for you?” Issei stood, taking what was left of Takahiro’s sanity with him. Makki rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and yawned loudly.

“Nah, I’m good. You two have fun.” Matsu responded to Makki’s best fake smile with an unhappy slant of his mouth.

“I think we’re gonna to stay at a hotel tonight and head back tomorrow, though.” There was the final nail in the coffin.

“Of course. Just come grab your shit after you get food, alright?”

“Heaven forbid it stains Hanamaki’s Den of Sin.”

“Damn right. Your purity doesn’t belong here, you pleb.”

“Always hating on the small folk. I see how it is.”

Takahiro threatened with a small pillow. “Get out, you piece of garbage.”

“Bye~” Issei winked, sashaying out of the room and jumping when Takahiro’s pillow impacted his head.

 

 

 

The second goodbye at the airport felt more like a limb being torn off than a ‘see you later.’ Hajime, Takahiro and Momo each hugged Issei quickly, waving Ichiro and him off. They were silent once the couple’s backs disappeared among the throng of people, the air solemn as they walked back to the car. Once they had dropped Hajime off at his apartment, Momo and Takahiro drove back to hers. Momo watched her boyfriend drag himself across the threshold and flop down onto the couch, morosely wrapping himself up in a blanket. She felt the tension strung through the muscles of his back when she rubbed between his shoulder blades, and it bottomed out her stomach. It was one thing to know his troubles would come to an end, and another to realize they likely weren’t going to. Momo was well aware he might need her to keep him afloat for awhile.

“Do you want me to make you some tea, Takahiro?” Makki nodded slowly, sinking from the weight settling in his chest.

“Thanks.” Momo sat on the couch with him after, reading through her textbook, one hand grazing her nails along back of his neck the way he liked. Takahiro was unnervingly quiet for the rest of the day.

 

 

“We could’ve talked this out, you know? Spared us some travel expenses.” Ichiro’s gaze wasn’t accusatory, but Issei was still wary.

“I tried. I tried to tell you all the things that bothered me, but you just made me feel bad for actually having a problem with your behavior. You can’t _do_ that anymore, Ichiro.” Issei rubbed his knees nervously, burrowing his feet further beneath the blanket. His boyfriend turned to him, rubbing a hand on his hip.

“I don’t want this to happen, Issei. I love you too much. I’ll change. It’ll be better, I promise.” He pressed his lips to Issei’s shoulder, slipping his hand beneath his sweater.

“I love you too. I hope so.”

“We both need to try harder to make this work. It’s a choice, you know? We can be the lucky ones that stay together.” Matsukawa nodded in agreement as another small part of him closed off to the world, unnoticed. Ichiro continued to elaborate on his point, reiterating what he found most important until Matsu felt he should be blue in the face. He supposed he deserved it for quite literally running away. Issei let Ichiro peel his shirt and sweater off and lay him down on the bed once he was done talking. He kissed back eagerly when he found himself pinned to the bed by Ichiro’s rough hands and unyielding hips, finally getting some sort of physical validation.

“Ah, fuck, yes, please-” Matsu moaned, mentally begging any deity that would listen for Ichiro to go through with it and actually _fuck him_ for once. The thigh between Matsu’s legs somehow redeemed all of Ichiro’s sins and once he was fully divested of his clothes, Matsu was ready to forgive. This was the first step, their biggest issue, and here Ichiro was, willing to bridge the gap. His thoughts all tumbled out of his head moments after, and his body was left in Ichiro’s capable hands. It would all be okay _._

 

 

 

Matsukawa didn’t know what to expect when he woke up. He searched himself for any inkling of regret, disappointment or anger, but he found none. It was a bright day outside and Ichiro was getting ready for work. Matsu smiled, rubbing sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand, and sat up.

“Hi.” He croaked, throat dry and hoarse from slumber.

“Good morning!” Ichiro came over and kissed Issei’s forehead, trying to button his shirt quickly. Issei peered over at the green numbers on their bedside clock and scowled.

“You’re running late again,” Matsu said, more to himself, then heaved his sore body to its feet. “Want me to make you lunch?”

“If you can make some in the next ten minutes, then yes. Otherwise, I’ll just get lunch somewhere. It’s fine!”

“I’ll pack you some snacks or something.”

“Sounds good!” After a scramble, Ichiro was out the door and off to work, leaving Issei to his own devices. He stretched, making some overly theatrical sounds, and waddled into the kitchen. A piece of toast and tea in hand, Issei sat at the breakfast table, ready to idly browse through his phone. Nearly an hour later, a text notification distracted him from “The Ten Most Overrated Shows” article that he was suffering through.

 

_hey_

_you free to talk_

Issei hit the ‘dial’ button, a little unnerved by the request.

“Hey! Everything okay?” He asked when the line connected, just short of breaking into a cold sweat.

“Yeah, I’m alright.” Takahiro sounded drained; his stifled yawn affirmed the fact.

“You sound exhausted, ‘Hiro.”

“Meh, I’ll get over it. How’re you?”

“I’m great, actually. Just had breakfast, contemplating more tea. Bit tired, but you know. Same old on that front.”

“Okay, good. Um, can I ask you something?” Issei’s stomach dropped at the audible waver in Takahiro’s voice.

“Yeah?” Matsu’s voice trembled.

“Why did you go back?”

“Uh.”

“I know it’s a loaded question, but. Um. Why? What did he say to make it better?” The silence on the line stretched long and tense.

“He apologized for everything. He’s never apologized for anything before.”

“He- what? Okay, no, I’m sorry.” Makki sounded resigned, his voice quiet and monotone.

“It’s okay. He promised to make an effort to treat me better. He said he hadn’t realized what he was doing, you know.”

“Mm.“

“You don’t sound like you believe me.”

“I- no, I do. I just want you to be happy. That’s all I want. And you didn’t seem happy, so I guess that’s why I needed to hear it from you. I don’t want this to ruin our relationship. I just- does any of this make sense to you? I’ve never had such a hard time talking to you before. You’re so _far_ from me- us. Not physically, but you’ve just- maybe it’s just how life is, you know? Losing touch and everything. But. It should be your decision. If you’re ready to move on, that’s fine. It’ll hurt for a while, but it’s fine. As long as that’s what _you_ want.”

“Why would I want that? That’s not it at all. I’ve just been, I don’t know, all over the place? I’m still getting adjusted. That doesn’t hold up as an excuse, I know, but- I miss you. That’s a daily thing. Everything makes me think of you. I don’t want to lose touch, but it’s been so much to get used to.”

“No, I didn’t mean that to make you feel guilty. I, fuck, I’m sorry. Um, I’m gonna go. I have to TA a class in a bit. Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Yeah, you too. Hey, before you go- do you, um, want to maybe set up a weekly Skype thing?”

Hanamaki’s exhale on the other end of the line was deep and relieved. ”Yeah. Please. Evenings or weekends are perfect, just let me know. I’ll make it work.”

“Okay. Don’t let the kids run around on you!”

“They’re such turds. Don’t even get me started.” A wistful sigh. “Bye, Issei.”

“Bye, Takahiro.” Matsukawa put the phone down on the table, placing his hand over his rapid-fire pulse. Feeling nervous around the person that knew him best was a new experience, but he was grateful that the call had at least ended well. He knew what this seemed like to an outsider, as loath as he was to ever call Makki an outsider in his life, but Ichiro had been sincere in his apology. Makki had jokingly called Matsu a pushover before, but Matsu firmly believed that everyone deserved a second chance. It wasn’t his fault that Makki could hold grudges for centuries. Besides, Ichiro hadn’t been the only one behaving poorly in the relationship, and Issei would be damned if he didn’t pull it together and try to make this work. He thought that maybe he had been too harsh in his initial assessment of Ichiro’s behavior. Had he really gone so far as to call it emotional abuse? He wondered whether he had been imagining things, or remembering exchanges though an angry and resentful lens. It was more than possible, especially with how little he had felt like himself of late.

 

 

 

_hows being a professional volleyball player_

Why are you so bad at hitting the dial button, Makki? Hmmmm~~

 

Hanamaki sighed deeply and tapped in Oikawa’s number.

“How’s being a professional volleyball player?” Makki droned, fully deserving of Oikawa’s musical laugh.

“It’s good. Great, actually! The coach used to be a setter, so I feel like I’m improving a lot. Not where I want to be yet, but I’m getting there. I may get the chance to play in a few more games this season.” It relieved Hanamaki to no end to hear genuine happiness in his friend’s voice. Tooru sounded tired, but satisfied. He was undoubtedly still pushing himself hard, though he’d grown up in recent years and begun accepting the recklessness of overworking his body.

“That’s great, really. I’m not sure it’s possible for you to get any better without tearing a rift in the universe, but you keep doing you. Don’t mind the rest of us trying to live on this Earth in peace. If a wormhole appears in my bedroom, it’s your fault.” Takahiro grinned, knowing full well it was audible in his voice.

“That stressed, eh, Takahiro?” Oikawa’s tone mellowed, now concerned.

“How do you always know?”

“You’re not exactly subtle.”

“Mm.”

“So, what’s happening?” Tooru’s voice always took on a soothing tone when he wanted to coax out all of someone’s problems, and it was almost uncanny how well it worked.

“I feel like I’m losing grip with reality sometimes, you know?”

“In what way?”

“Well, not losing grip. More that the weeks pass by so quickly and I feel like nothing’s happened, like time is just disappearing. It’s weird. I mean, that’s part of the struggle of graduate work, but I’m just a little overwhelmed.”

“I imagine you are. You’re the smartest person I know, so I have faith you’ll pull through. Don’t be a stranger, okay? I know you and Hajime probably just grunt a lot when you’re at the gym-“ Takahiro resisted the urge to cackle madly; he and Hajime actually spent a lot of their time discussing science in between sets. “-but he’s there physically even if the rest of us can’t be.”

“Yeah, he’s been keeping me sane. And sore. He is a sadist.” Makki whined, his muscles experiencing a phantom ache from the thought.

“Mm, that he is.” Oikawa chuckled.

“I sincerely you hope you mean that in a gym sense. I am not sure I’m ready to hear about your sex life in excruciating detail.”

“It’s not like we _haven’t_ ever talked about it!”

“Again, the difference is the detail part. I do _not_ want to know if he ties you up and spanks you, okay?”

“He does.”

“Tooru.” Hanamaki threatened.

“Sometimes it’s the other way around~”

“Okay, I’m leaving this conversation. Goodbye!”

“Ah, so pure and virginal all of a sudden, hm?”

Hanamaki rolled his eyes. “Yes. Both pure and virginal.” Oikawa’s laugh was so loud that it caused a crackling in the line.

“Maybe when you were 17.”

“Maybe not even then.” Makki grinned, shaking his head as Oikawa continued chuckling.

“Well, I’ll let you go be a nerd, Makki! It’s what you’re good at~”

“Yeah, most of the time, anyway. Good luck with training. Don’t ruin yourself and come visit soon.”

“I’ll try not to, and I hope I can!”

“Bye.”

“Bye~”

 

  

 

“Hey gorgeous, want to ignore our responsibilities together this fine Valentine’s Day?” Makki asked, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder as he gathered his things.

“Oooh, sweeping me off my feet! Why yes, oh lord of the deprived eyebrows, of course.” Momo orated dramatically, giggling.

“You and Issei need to not be friends.”

“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Takahiro.”

Makki sighed dramatically. “Did you hear that? That was the sound of me being done with you _and_ him. Both of you.”

“Cute. Now, where do you want to go to ignore our responsibilities? Food? Coffee? Your bedroom? Mine?”

“We could do all those, in that order.” Makki slipped a light jacket on, scooping his bag from the floor and waving bye at his supervisor.

“My apartment is a mess, so we can just do yours times two.”

“I’m not complaining! I’ll be by your lab in ten.”

“See you then. Love you!”

“Love you too.” He hung up, grinning, and hustled over to the chemistry labs.

 

 

 

Matsu rolled over, fruitlessly trying to wipe the sun’s rays from his face. Thoroughly dissatisfied with the sunlight’s persistence, he sat up and fumbled at the blinds. He heavily considered going back to bed, but thought better of it when he caught a whiff of something delicious. Creeping into the kitchen like a cartoon villain, he snuck up on Ichiro, winding his arms around his waist.

“Good morning-” Issei yawned, dropping his head onto Ichiro’s shoulder blade.

“I figured I could wake you up with bacon.” He chuckled throatily when Issei nodded, his head still resting against Ichiro.

“It makes me feel very English-speaking. You know. _Bacon. Rrrrr, so man_.”

“You’re ridiculous, and it’s ‘ _manly_ ’.”

“Guilty as charged, on both accounts. Can I steal some? That plate looks too full. I should help you.”

“Don’t spoil your-“ Ichiro snorted, trying to block the plate with his body while simultaneously flipping a pancake. Issei dove between him and the counter, snatching a handful of bacon strips and cackling triumphantly. “Now you have to eat all the bacon I put on your plate _and_ what you just snagged.” Ichiro teased, a hand on his hip.

“Oh wow, that sounds terrible. More bacon. Whatever will I do.” Issei ducked out of the way of the spatula.

“Go sit down and wait for your breakfast, you mongrel.”

“ _Yes. I will._ ”

“Your English is really cute.”

“It’s not cute. It’s rough around the edges, but charming. Much like me.”

 

 

 

“Hajime, what do you do when Tooru’s being- you know- weird?” Takahiro waved his hands around to more clearly illustrate his point. Hajime raised an eyebrow.

“Weird in what way?”

“Momo’s been a lot quieter in the past few weeks. A little more evasive? I’m not sure. Not a lot, but she feels _off_ , but says she’s okay when I ask her about it.”

“Maybe she’s just working through something she doesn’t feel the need to tell you about.”

“I guess. It’s freaking me out a bit.” Hanamaki fidgeted, running a finger through the dust on the top of the weight rack.

“I can understand that. I’m sure it’ll work itself out soon. If it doesn’t, try talking to her again later.” Iwaizumi shrugged, offering as reassuring a smile as he could muster halfway through a workout.

“Yeah.” Hanamaki was miles away in his own head.

“Now lift your damn weights, you lazy shit.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yep. Your tiny arms have a long way to go. I’m counting. One…”

 

 

 

Matsukawa hit the stop button on the treadmill, lungs burning and legs ready to give out. He hung onto the side rails and panted, failing to fill his aching lungs with each breath. Righting himself, he rested the heels of his sweaty hands on his hips and tipped his head back.

“Shiiiit.” He wheezed.

The walk back to his and Ichiro’s apartment felt like an eternity, but at least he felt marginally better. He was still sweating when he fumbled the door open with damp hands, grinning tiredly at Ichiro.

“I can smell you from here!”

“Imagine how bad it is right under my nose.” Matsu smirked, bending to rest his palms on his knees.

“Go shower, please.”

“I need to cool down first or else I’ll just start sweating after the shower again.”

“Then could you stand in the bathroom and cool down?”

“Or, I could roll all over your side of the bed.” Ichiro scowled at him. “Fiiine, I’ll go.”

“And before you ask, no, I will not be joining you.”

“You take the wind out of my sails.”

“Being dramatic won’t help you.” Ichiro huffed.

“Well, I give up. I _guess_ I’ll just have to have some time with myself. If you know what I mean.” He pointed finger guns at Ichiro, a devious little smile pulling at his lips.

“Without me?”

“Kinda hard to include you if I’m the only one in the shower, no? Heh, hard.”

“I don’t want you doing _that_.”

“Why?”

“I mean, we’re together. I don’t feel the need to do it.”

“But we hardly ever have sex. We haven’t slept together since I came back! It’s been a few months, you know.”

“So?”

“I guess. Anyway. I’m going to go exile myself to the bathroom. Naked. Sweaty. The usual.” Matsu untied his laces and slipped off his shoes, trudging slowly to the bedroom to pick up a change of clothes. The drawer where he kept his things was a mess, but he wadded up some clean things and stuck them on the bathroom counter while he peeled off his damp workout gear. As much as Issei enjoyed the feeling of a good, clean sweat, the shower afterwards was even better. He turned it up until it was almost unbearably hot for a second, then back down to a more manageable temperature. Though his showers were usually very efficient, Issei decided to stand under the gentle flow of water, letting it run down the planes of his face and body. All thoughts voided his brain, leaving him sighing happily while exhaustion caught up to his muscles. The endorphins were enough to keep him going for the moment and he gave into his baser urges. Maybe Ichiro and he wouldn’t have the sex life he’d thought they would, but it’s not like he hadn’t learned to take care of himself.

What he wasn’t expecting was whose face would sneak into his head as he climaxed, all smirks and almost fake-looking strawberry blonde hair.

“What the fuck.” Matsukawa told nobody in particular as he rinsed his hand off, forehead resting against the tile.

 

 

 

Momo’s voice was uncharacteristically timid as she called out to Makki. He looked up from his notes and found her sitting stiffly at the end of the couch, her fingers toying with the charms on her bracelet. Makki’s eyes caught on the silver heart he had bought her for her 21st birthday.

“Yeah?” He propped his chin up on his hand, shifting to make himself comfortable on the carpet.

“Can I ask you something?” Makki sat upright, sensing an abrupt change in the atmosphere. A cold prickle of dread ran down his spine.

“Yeah.”

Momo inhaled deeply and unevenly. “If Issei walked through that door right now as a single man, and confessed his love for you, would you break up with me?” Takahiro swallowed. He became acutely aware of the blood rushing through his veins as his mind conjured up the scenario. What would he do? His mind rationalized that he was in love with Momo, and happy with her, but in the bottom of his heart he knew he wouldn’t be able to say no to his first love. It was fruitless to imagine any of this, however; Issei had gone back to Ichiro, and Takahiro should have gotten over him by now. He should have gone on with his life with the woman that continually made him smile, but there was no denying how _alive_ he felt every time Issei was near him.

“That’s all I needed.”

“I didn’t say anyt-” He stood quickly, reaching for her hand. She rose to her feet and dodged his reach.

“You didn’t need to. The pause was enough.” Momo’s voice broke and she jogged past him to the bedroom, closing the door with a soft click. Makki couldn’t let things end like this- he wouldn’t. He followed and knocked on the door, listening for any sort of reaction.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” Momo sniffled, shifting under the blanket. Makki lowered himself next to her, hazarding to place a hand on her shoulder. She sighed.

“I love you, Momo. Honestly, I do. So much. You make me so happy and I- you make me better. I’m sorry for not giving you all of me. I don’t even know. It’s not like I actively think about him all day. Yeah, of course he makes me happy, but we’ve been friends for so long. We have years of history-“

“Takahiro-“ She blew her nose. “We’ve been together for _three years_.”

“I know.”

Momo’s voice was strained, tear-choked. “I thought- I actually thought we might get married in a few years. You take _such_ good care of me, and you’re so sweet and kind and you bring me flowers when I’ve had an awful day and make me laugh every minute of my life, but I can’t ignore how you look at him. I can’t. And the way he looks at _you_. The worst part is that I’m not mad. I can’t be. You’re both incredible people and I want to have you in my life, but it _hurts_ so much.”

“Momo-“ Makki gingerly brushed a tear off of her cheek with his thumb, his own eyes starting to well up.

She turned her head and kissed his palm softly. “You don’t have to say anything. I know you love me. I know that.” Makki climbed on the bed next to her and she curled up against his chest, clinging to his shirt. He tilted her head up, kissing her as slowly and as meaningfully as he could, trying to ignore the salt on her lips.

“Is this it, then?” Takahiro whispered into the sudden distance between them.

“Yeah.”

“Is there anything I can do to change your mind?”

“Right now, no.”

“Do I ever get to see you again?”

“I’d miss your stupid puns too much otherwise.” She giggled, kissing him on the nose. Makki pulled her closer and nuzzled into her hairline, blinking tears out of his eyes.

“Okay, good.”

 

 

 

It’ll be fine, Matsukawa reassured himself, digging through piles of half-filled notebooks and scrap paper covered in his tilted scrawl. He was a step short of frantic; he would be devastated if he had lost it somewhere. Luckily, a worn leather corner poked out from among crumpled A4 sheets and Issei breathed a sigh of relief. His heart rate took quite some time to come back down to normal, but the familiar feel of the cover and the faux aged pages brought with them a measure of calm. While the more masochistic part of his brain insisted his attachment to the book was purely because of all his story notes, the more rational part made him open to the first page and sigh over the inscription. The first year of university felt like a lifetime ago, like he was a different person in a different era then. Issei knew that people grew and changed in unexpected ways given their circumstances, but he wasn’t sure he liked who he had become. He was quiet, always doubting his own thoughts, his own abilities; sometimes it felt like he had to censor himself to be more acceptable. In all fairness, he had always been a little crass, and that wasn’t exactly becoming of a young man looking to join the professional world. Maybe that was part of growing up, too.

 

 

 

A few weeks after he and Momo broke up, Hanamaki’s thumb hovered over the call button for what felt like a half hour before he decided it was the right thing to press.

“Hey.” Momo answered after several rings, quiet and a little hesitant.

“Hi. I just wanted to congratulate you on graduating. I know you probably don’t want me there, so I-“ Makki hardly took a pause between words, he was so nervous.

“No, I still do.”

“Oh.”

“You’re going to come with Hajime, right? He said he was going to make it.”

“Yeah. Yeah! I just didn’t know-“

“This isn’t going to be easy for a while, I know.”

“It’s weird.”

“It is, I know.”

“I still-“

“Please, Takahiro.” The dead air was almost oppressive, and Hanamaki was sick of having such awkward moments with the people he loved.

“Okay. Yeah. I’ll be there tomorrow. I might even comb my hair.”

“Jeez, you don’t have to go all out. Clean underwear is all I ask.” A sense of relief washed over Makki when he picked up the note of playfulness in Momo’s voice.

“Your high standards worry me, Momo.”

“Is that why I was with you? High standards?” They were both laughing heartily by this point, though the past tense stung and would continue to.

“Excuse you, Ms. ‘which end of the knife do I use?’”

“You take that out of context every time! You _know_ that’s not what I meant.” Momo gasped out in between hiccups.

“Do I, though?”

“Don’t you dare bring up your birthday cake!” She warned, still smiling.

“What if-“

“No.”

“It was…a cake.” Takahiro was choking on suppressed chuckles.

“I’d hit you if you were here.”

“I know. That’s why I’m saying it over the phone.”

“You’re a noodle. I have to go, though, my parents want to head out for lunch. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, you will. Love y- fuck, I’m sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Love you too, nerd.” She hung up and Makki leaned into the couch, his chest aching.

 

 

  

Ichiro and Issei sat back down into the car, full and slightly sleepy from outstanding amounts of pasta. Issei undid his belt and sighed happily, loosening the collar of his button down shirt.

“You ate _that_ much?” Ichiro raised an eyebrow, chuckling.

“Oh yeah. I wasn’t about to leave anything on the plate! It was so good.” Matsu smirked, trying to get comfortable. “So, why did we get all dressed up tonight, anyway? Not that I’m complaining, but you know. Just curious.”

“Just because.” Ichiro avoided eye contact, and Matsu tilted his head in confusion. He had been a little jittery all night, but Matsu figured Ichiro would have told him why.

“Okay.” Matsukawa resumed fiddling with his shirt, squirming as his brain caught up with how much he had forced into his stomach.

They drove home in relative silence, punctuated by Matsukawa’s laughter at some teenager running into a pole because he was texting and walking.

“Don’t be mean, Issei.” Ichiro tutted gently, but Issei kept cackling.

“That was straight out a cartoon! Man, amazing.” He thought about mentioning how Makki would have found it hilarious, but Matsu didn’t really want to start a fight after such a nice evening.

They stood in comfortable silence on the elevator, with Issei absentmindedly rubbing Ichiro’s back the whole way.

“You feel really tense. Want me to give you a massage when we get back and I get into something that isn’t tying to squeeze me into two parts?” Issei asked, resting his head on Ichiro’s shoulder and placing a small kiss there.

“No, it’s okay. Give me some space, though.” Matsu nodded, stepping to the side and dropping his hand.

“Yeah, sure.”

They were quiet as they changed into more comfortable clothes, though Matsu kept an eye on Ichiro, concerned about his odd behavior. Issei was standing in an undone dress shirt and his underwear when Ichiro came up behind him, wrapped his arms around his middle, and leaned his cheek against Issei’s. Something sharp was pressing into the flesh above Matsu’s hip, though he just assumed it was Ichiro’s unnecessarily large watch.

“I love you, you know that?”

“I love you too. You are being _so_ weird, Ichiro. What’s going on?” Matsu craned his neck to try and look Ichiro in the eye.

“Nothing’s going on! I’m fine. I just- well, we’ve been together a while now-”

“Yeah…” Issei’s heart rate tripled, and his hands began to tremble slightly. He was not prepared for surprises of any sort, and was afraid of reacting poorly. It didn’t help that Ichiro’s pulse had definitely quickened, and he could feel it through the way their bodies rested against one another.

“So…”

“Yes? Are you gonna finish that sentence or leave me here to sweat to death?” Issei flinched, knowing Ichiro’s distaste for snappy retorts and sass, but hoped he would skate over it.

“Um. So, would you maybe-” The source of the discomfort hadn’t been Ichiro’s watch; it was a small, black box. Issei near stopped breathing and felt a little bit queasy. “-would you marry me?” Issei whirled around in Ichiro’s arms, embracing him tightly though a disbelieving laugh.

“Yeah, of course!” He murmured into the collar of Ichiro’s dress shirt, sighing happily. This was a surprise that Issei could handle and accept; this could be a new start for them, a way to repair and rebuild their relationship. Ichiro had forgiven him despite his attempt to go home and give up on them as a couple.

As the silver band on his hand caught the moonlight, his future looked bright once again.

 

 

  

“Fuck.”

“Fuck.”

“ _Fuck._ ”

“Fuck!” Makki slammed his hands down on the table and Iwaizumi jumped, his coffee sloshing up and out of his mug. He scowled at Makki, though the gesture went unnoticed; Hanamaki’s face was nestled in the crook of his crossed arms. Iwaizumi grabbed Makki’s bicep firmly across the table, the strength of the grip suggesting both empathy and anger.

“I know.”

“What the _fuck_.” Makki’s eyes were steely and he had managed to chew the skin of his thumb until it started bleeding.

“I know.”

“Is that all you can say, Hajime?”

“What the fuck do you want me to say? This is shit. What else _can_ I say? What can I say that we both don’t already know, huh?” Iwaizumi’s voice was tempered and even, but Takahiro knew well the look Hajime had fixed on him. It was, simply put, terrifying, and left no room for argument. Unless you were one Oikawa Tooru, who happened to sense when his Iwa-chan was fast approaching significant levels of anger. Iwaizumi’s cell buzzed. Iwaizumi stared down his phone like he was going to glare it into submission, but then picked it up.

“Hey.” While Hajime spoke with Tooru, Takahiro absentmindedly doodled across his notes, letting his mind wander. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting when Issei had texted him the day before, but it hadn’t been news of his engagement. Makki was angry because one, his best friend wanted to commit a lifetime to a man that treated him like garbage, and two, he was still deeply wounded by Momo’s leaving. He wasn’t sure which emotion to funnel his energy into, so he stared at the table, suddenly catatonic from the way things were crumbling around him.

“I love you too. See you this weekend. Bye.” Hajime hung up, sliding the phone across the table.

“How’s Hanger-san doing?” Hajime snorted at the nickname, and the corner of Makki’s mouth turned up.

“He’s fine. He wants to come up for the weekend since he’s got a few days off.”

Hanamaki smiled genuinely. “Ah, well, I’ll be sure to leave town on Friday, then.”

“He’d come after you.”

“No rest for the weary.”

“Dinner on Saturday?” Makki gestured in the affirmative, twirling a pen between his fingers. “We’re not going to let you fall into a funk, alright?”

“Good luck.”

“Don’t be a dipshit. I sympathize, I really do, but I’m not letting you get fucked up again. I can already see it in your eyes-“ Iwaizumi took a stir stick and pointed aggressively at the bridge of Hanamaki’s nose. He crossed his eyes in his attempt to focus on the stick.

“Yeah, okay. So, can we make Tooru pay for dinner again, you think?”

Hajime’s shoulders heaved with a sigh. “He’ll offer anyway.”

“Stupid, generous friend.”

“I know, it’s disgusting.”

“You’re just as bad. You two are so gross and caring. Ugh.” Iwaizumi dodged the wadded up post-it meant for his forehead, drawing his eyebrows into a v shape. “Then again, it really cements my role as the asshole of our quartet.”

“Wouldn’t it be a quintet, if we count Momo? Or are you mad that we love her more than you?” Iwaizumi smirked and took a deep drink of his coffee. Hanamaki chuckled weakly, suddenly very interested in the curled edge of a post-it.

“Yeah, no, we’re four for another while! Good, because, you know, it’s hard to fit us all on these benches.” Though he finished the statement jovially, Hajime knew him better than that. He put a hand on Takahiro’s forearm.

“You never did tell me what happened.”

Takahiro smiled wryly, eyes skittish. “Well, uh, she broke up with me, as you know. Guess I’m not as charming as I think.”

“Did she say why?” Takahiro’s bitter laugh sounded closer to a sob than any friend was comfortable hearing.

“Uh. Funny story, that. She asked me, and wow, was I an idiot, um, yeah, she asked me if Issei showed up at my doorstep, single, if I would break up with her-“

“Oh God, no, please tell me you didn’t-“

“I paused.”

“Jesus Christ, Makki.”

“Yeah, well.”

“I know you two would always be drawn to each other, but- still? Would you?”

“Of fucking course I would! I love Momo, but I’ve never been able to get him out of my head, and heart, I guess. I know it’s pathetic.”

“It really is.” Hajime’s eyes shone with mirth.

“Fuck off. How long did you pine after Tooru before you two finally got together?”

“Don’t make this about me. You’re the one who’s still in love with your unavailable best friend.”

“I know.”

“You _really_ need to figure that out. He’s going to marry someone else. That’s a serious commitment, and you can’t screw your own happiness over. Were you planning on just sabotaging every relationship you get into from now until you die?”

“But Ichiro is so fucking shitty!”

“ _Yes_ , I know that, and Issei has _chosen_ to marry him. As far as we know, he has not been physically threatened into it, so it’s _his_ choice. Of course, it’s a fucking terrible choice, but it’s _his_.”

“You know, I hate it when you’re the voice of reason.” Takahiro murmured irritably.

“Yeah, yeah. You can always count on it, though.”

“Thanks.” Hajime smacked him over the head with a rolled up stack of scrap paper.

 

 

 

Issei closed the steadily growing word document on his laptop and checked his calendar. Somehow, Oikawa’s birthday had snuck up on him. He doodled a note on a post-it reminding himself to make him a hideous 23rd birthday card, preferably with crayon. Oikawa insisted on keeping everything anyone made him, so Issei had made it his personal mission to create the ugliest mementos of their friendship as humanly possible. Takeru’s first grade drawings made him seem like Monet compared to Issei’s interpretations of Tooru’s favourite things.

Matsukawa had been slowly writing over the past few months. It hadn’t been anything substantial, as his inspiration was still fleeting and as tangible as smoke, but he was relieved that he could still pull a few words together in an order that didn’t make him want to gouge out his eyes. His dream to have a novel written by the age of 25 seemed a little far away, but he figured it was still possible. Issei fanned through his favourite notebook, scribbling in a few notes for the beast of a writing project he had been planning since the end of high school. The notebook Hanamaki had given him in their first year was well worn, the spine completely softened from repeated use, and page after page was covered in blue ink. He had penned characters, back stories, whole scenes and plot ideas over the years, though breaking through the fear of threading it all together was proving to be the most difficult part of the process. Combined with how many hours his body seemed to need to spend in bed, Issei wasn’t exactly where he had ever envisioned himself.

“Issei?” He jumped at Ichiro’s voice. For such a large man, he was second to none in the art of entering a room undetected.

“Oh hey. Is your show all done?” Matsukawa packed up his notebook and slightly ridiculous collection of blue pens. Ichiro squatted down behind him on the carpeted floor and curled around his back.

“Mhm, it is. What’re you doing?”

“I was just writing again. The novel’s not going anywhere, but the short stories are practice, at least.” Issei sighed, leaning his head back on Ichiro’s shoulder.

“Can I read one?”

“They’re really bad right now. Could you wait until I’ve edited them a bit?” Issei closed his eyes, but Ichiro shifted his shoulder out of the way; whether it was accidental or intentional was anyone’s guess.

“Why don’t you want to share your writing with me?”

“I do, just not right now. It’s all _really_ rough. I want you to read something that doesn’t suck.” Ichiro got up, exhaling in a frustrated way.

“You know, you’re going to have to be a bit more open with me since we’re getting married.”

“I’m open with everything else. I just don’t want you to read garbage? It’s not that weird.” Issei turned to face him, standing so Ichiro’s stance over him would seem less imposing.

“You’ll learn to open up.”

“Okay, yeah.” A gentle smile on his face, Ichiro left the room in search of an afternoon snack and left Issei staring at the doorway wondering why he felt guilt creeping up through his veins.

 

 

  

“Heeeey, stupid little brother, I know you listen to your voicemails. I just wanted to chat to remind you that your nephews love you, and sometimes I do too. Maybe. You’re welcome for the Nutella addiction, by the way. I hope you’re not giving Momo a hard time- well, I know you are. You’re a dork. Anyway, call me back when you have a minute. Bye.” Hanamaki laughed at his sister’s voicemail and hit redial.

“Award for worst older sister goes tooooo…Hanamaki Fumiko!” He announced the moment the line connected.

“Well, I didn’t give you too much attitude as a child, so I can’t be the worst. You were a little shit, though, you know.”

“Me? Noooo. I was perfect.” Makki could hardly keep the smile out of his voice. Fumiko snorted loudly, then giggled at her own reaction.

“What’s up, nerd? You done with school yet?”

“I started my masters a year ago?”

“Yeah. You done yet?”

“I wish. Another year and a bit, if I’m lucky.”

“Well, good. Thanks to you, my spawn also want to go to school forever.”

“Ah, already taking after their uncle. This generation holds promise.”

“Do you even know how much school in America is? The boys might have to rock paper scissors over which one gets a post-secondary education!”

“How are they, anyhow?”

“They’re doing well. Super-smart, just like their nerd of an uncle. Super-sassy, also like their twit of an uncle.”

“Yeah, not like their mother at all, no.”

“Luckily, they got my looks.”

“Poor kids.”

“You’re a little shit.”

“I’m just fulfilling my duty as a younger brother and painfully honest outside observer.”

“Still a little shit. How’s your girlfriend putting up with you?”

“Uh. We broke up.”

“Oh, damn, I’m sorry. You must’ve messed up _pretty_ badly, huh?”

“Why do you always assume it’s me?!”

“Am I right?”

“Yes.”

“So, what’d you fuck up?”

“Should you be swearing in front of your impressionable sons?’

“So, what did you fuck up?”

“I’m-” The more he repeated the statement, the more pathetic he felt, but Makki knew he owed his sister honesty. “I’m still in love with Issei and she couldn’t handle it anymore.”

“You’re pathetic.” Fumiko’s laugh had always been one of the constants in his life.

“So I hear.”

“Consider this, Takahiro-”

“Oh god, what are you gonna-”

“Shh, I’m sharing wisdom. Respect your elders. Consider the absolutely wild option of, say, using your _words_ and telling him how you feel. Or writing an equation. Whatever it is that you do.”

“He’s engaged.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah.”

“Still. Tell him.”

“I-”

“You apologized to Momo, right?”

“Yes, I-”

“Write her a letter or something nice. She seems great and deserving of good things. Matsu loves her, and I trust his judgment.”

“How do you know that he loves her?”

“We text sometimes.”

“Since when?”

“Since I decided he was my future brother-in-law.”

“That long?!”

“Oh yeah.”

“You two talk about me behind my back, don’t you?”

“Oh, of course.”

 

 

 

 

The box mewled.

“Am I- Am I going insane, or did I just hear something meow?” Ichiro laughed at Issei’s confused tone of voice, still toeing his shoes off by the door.

“No, you’re not going insane. I have a surprise for you!”

“I can’t eat anything that meows, though?”

“You’re such a goofball. Meet our new family member!” Ichiro placed a small carrier down and Issei got on his knees to peer in. A small, frightened pile of fur masquerading as a kitten was pressed to the far corner of the plastic pet carrier, a pink collar around its fragile neck.

“Ichiro. You brought home a kitten.” A nod. “A living, breathing, adorable pile of fur, holy shit have you seen this? Have you _seen_ her? Him?”

“It’s a girl, and they only had these pink collars left. I figured you could use some company at home.”

“Look at her! _Look_.” Matsu opened the small door and backed up to give the kitten some space. Realizing there were treats in one of the bags Ichiro had brought in, he pulled a few out, trying to entice the frightened creature out. Ichiro smiled fondly at Issei’s child-like wonder at the kitten, and the way he had pressed his entire body to the floor in an attempt to be unintimidating. Matsu placed a treat at the entrance of the carrier and waited with bated breath. A few steps forward and the kitten peered out at its new environment, letting its distress be known with the teeniest of meows. It spotted a second treat and ambled over with the uncertain gait of a baby learning to walk, clumsily attacking its immobile prey. Matsu wanted to squeal with excitement, but as he was So Masculine, he reined it in. Fixing its round grey eyes on the strange body in front of it, the kitten continued its great adventure, stumbling and finally colliding with Matsu’s large palm. Unable to resist, he scooped up the four-legged mass of fur and sat up, bringing it to his chest.

“What are we going to name her?” Matsu peered down his nose to watch his new charge breathe softly, curling against his hands.

“Something cute.” Ichiro suggested. The kitten bit down on Matsu’s thumb and he scowled at it, though immediately mollified by its fluffiness.

“I think this cat may be an asshole hidden in an adorable package.” Issei immediately thought of someone else fitting that description.

“Don’t say that! Look how sweet she is.” Out of spite, it seemed, the kitten bit Issei again.

“This cat is an asshole and I love her. Can I call her Asshole?”

“No. Issei, stop being immature.”

“ _Fine_.”

“What about something like Mrs. Wiggles?”

“And that’s more mature.”

“It’s cute!”

“I’ll only accept that name if I can call her Wiggles-sama.”

“It’s a cat.”

“The almighty ruler of the home.” Matsu raised his arms above his head, and the kitten skittishly moved about on his palms. “She looks over her future kingdom with a weary soul, though her optimism is but-“

“Issei.”

“What? Wiggles-sama is gazing upon her new lands. Look, Wiggles-sama, all that the light touches is-” Delivering one of his favourite lines from any animal-related movie with gusto, Matsu kept his deadpan voice and expression. Ichiro continued to look unimpressed.

“ _Issei_.”

“Okay, okay, jeez.” The small bundle pressed up against Issei’s chest, purring with an intensity completely unexpected for its size. He felt himself already overwhelmed by affection for the tiny kitten. “Oh. Hi. I think I love you, you tiny little nerd.”

“I’ll leave you two alone while I go change.” Ichiro pecked his future husband on the cheek and disappeared into the bedroom. An honest and genuine smile curled Issei’s lips for the first time in weeks when he scratched his new kitten’s head and felt it lean into the touch. Issei’s heart swelled.

 

 

 

Momo cutting their hug short was a stark reminder of the fact that they were no longer together. Takahiro smiled sadly at her, then shuffled into the kitchen.

“Thanks for coming. Want some hot chocolate?” He asked, making much too much noise in the cupboards to compensate for a sudden onslaught of nerves.

“Yeah, sure! Thanks.” Momo followed him and hopped up on the counter. “So, what did you want to talk about?” Takahiro’s rustling ceased for a moment and he leaned his weight against the countertop.

“I- Momo, I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?”

“For everything. I didn’t get the chance to properly-”

“I told you, it’s _okay_. It’s been a couple of months, and we’re slowly getting over it, alright?”

“No, really, though.”

“Takahiro.”

“Please. Just let me say it, and then we can just continue on with this awkward friends thing.”

“Okay. Say your thing, then.”

“Okay, um.”

“Good start.”

Takahiro laughed, meeting Momo’s dark eyes with his. He had always loved the way the corners of her eyes crinkled when she smiled. Seeing her with that soft look in her eyes made the lump in his throat grow.

“I loved you. A lot. I still do. I probably always will, in some way. Before you tell me that I shouldn’t, I am going to tell you that I will. Whether we’re together or not, you’re always going to mean a lot to me.” Makki stepped over so he was standing between her knees, and clasped her hands in his. She felt so warm to the touch, like always. “You were there for me through everything, no matter how heavily it weighed on you, and I don’t think I ever let you know how much I appreciated you. I just can’t handle us separating without me being absolutely certain that you know how important you were to me and will continue to be. I’m sorry that I wasn’t ever really able to give you all of me. I know you gave me everything you had and more. I know, and you’re fucking incredible for opening up to me like you did. I thought I tried, but I guess I never tried hard enough to get over Issei. Maybe I’m still hoping, deep down, that he’ll come back and we can be together. Maybe he’s just that first love that nobody ever really gets over, you know? Maybe he’ll stay a part of my soul forever, even after that wildly burning hope goes away. Did I just say that? I really did. Please don’t laugh. It feels so _stupid_ to not have control of your emotions, and I honestly thought I’d have my shit together by this point in my life, but I don’t. I don’t. You deserve someone that will take care of you the way you take care of them, okay? Someone who you know can be completely and utterly yours. That sounds creepy and possessive, but you know what I mean. I hope. I really don’t know. You know I’m really bad with feelings and I’m a fucking mess on the best of days, but you’ve been-“ Momo leaned in and pressed their lips together forcefully, yanking him in for a desperate embrace. Makki returned the gesture in kind, threading a hand through her hair and pulling her tight with the other. They kissed until they were breathless, the bittersweet taste never once fading, only changing and melting into something heavy that would take much too long to purge from their hearts. Takahiro opened his eyes. He rested his forehead against Momo’s and watched tears etch their way through her makeup knowing that nothing he could do would make them stop.

 

 

 

“Am I driving?” Matsu asked, grabbing the car keys and shrugging on a light jacket. Ichiro was checking his pockets for his wallet and frowning when he couldn’t find it.

“No, I’ll drive us there and you can drive back.”

“That kind of defeats the point of me driving you to the airport. Just let me drive, it’s fine. I know my way around. You forget we’ve been here for over a year.” Matsu remembered seeing Ichiro’s wallet sitting by the sink, for some reason. He snagged it quickly and offered it to his relieved fiancé.

“I still don’t trust the drivers around here.” Ichiro grabbed the wallet and looked around for his phone. Once again, Issei handed it to him. In their time together, Issei had become a walking gps tracker for Ichiro’s belongings, more out of necessity than efficiency.

“But _you_ drive.”

“Yes, but I’ve-”

“It doesn’t matter. Let’s go or you’ll miss your flight again. Your boss wouldn’t be too pleased about you missing the meeting.” Issei ushered him towards the door of the apartment, dragging his suitcase.

“I won’t, thanks to you.”

“You mean, thanks to you not taking the world’s longest shower?” Wiggles-sama, affectionately known as The Wig, leapt up onto Issei’s shoulder from the couch and meowed her displeasure about not being the center of attention. Issei nudged her head with his and was rewarded with a happy little noise.

“Semantics.”

 

An hour later, Issei watched Ichiro go through security, waving him off, then drove back to the apartment happily listening to a radio station _he_ liked, for once. Despite how early it still was, Matsu felt no need to go back to bed. He made himself some tea and breakfast, and sat out on the balcony in an enormous blanket and watched the sunrise.

 

**_Good morning!_ **

_why are you up so early_

_how do you even know how to form words before 7_

_who are you and what have you done with my best friend_

**_It was the geese. They lobotomized me._ **

_i knew it_

_fucking geese_

_i told you australia was a bad idea_

**_That doesn’t explain why you’re up before 6 am…unless you never went to sleep._ **

_i would be lying if i said i went home last night_

**_You went out? Finally, I thought you had forgotten how to have fun!_ **

_uh_

_i was at the lab_

_i still am_

_i took a nap on my supervisors couch_

**_For fuck’s sake. Why the hell are you still there?_ **

_well i need results and i didnt have many_

_and i sort of need to start thinking about my thesis_

_and i sort of needed to grade a lot of tests_

_and i sort of have been really stressed out and avoiding my responsibilities_

 

 

_i can hear you worrying_

_stop that_

**_Too late._ **

_stop it_

_dont make me feel guilty about being bad at adulting_

**_She really kept your ass in line, didn’t she?_ **

_yeah_

_she did_

_still tries to_

_the labs distracting though_

_so that helps a little_

_i kinda figured that after you know_

_nearly six months itd be easier_

_but haaaaaa_

_were slowly trying to hang out again together with hajime and its not bad_

_okay maybe it is getting better_

_but i cant deal with just seeing her alone because its still_

_ehhhhhhh_

_i dont know_

_i just want it to go back to the way it was_

_you still talk to her right_

_i hope_

**_Yeah, I do. I think we all do. She’s really worked her way up to be the queen of memes, though. You taught her well._ **

_i think that was you_

_i swear she reminds me of your stupid ass so much_

**_She reminds you of my ass? I’ll be sure to tell her you said that._ **

_oh fuck off_

_you know what i mean_

**_It’s the eyebrows, I think._ **

_probably_

_im doomed to end up with someone with HUGE eyebrows_

_ill be stuck photoshopping family photos for the rest of my life_

When Issei imagined Takahiro carefully editing family photos on his ancient laptop, he broke out into a sweat realizing it was _him_ he was imagining as the other half.

 

_maybe i should practice on your eyebrows_

His cheeks were hurting from how much he had been smiling for the duration of the conversation, and they only hurt more when a poorly edited photo of him with beige blurs for eyebrows loaded in the message screen. Issei started snorting when he realized that his eyebrows had been badly transplanted onto Takahiro’s face in the picture.

 

_there_

_that is how it should have been from the start_

**_Hiro, I can’t breathe._ **

_yes i have that effect on people_

_maybe the reason why my eyebrows were destined to burn off was because i am too sexy with eyebrows_

**_I don’t think you were ever in danger of being too sexy._ **

_listen you little shit_

_fuck i miss you and your gay ass_

**_I miss your ass, too. Maybe even the rest of you._ **

_id be fine with that_

_my ass has gotten at least 9000% better since you left_

_so firm and sensual_

**_Hajime still a sadist in the gym?_ **

_yes_

_that is why i have such a bomb ass_

_also i am in pain all the time_

_and he just laughs_

**_Aw baby._ **

**_Yeah, I’ve been trying to run a few times a week and I feel like I wheeze out my soul every time._ **

**_I miss playing volleyball._ **

_i bet you miss the feeling of balls in your hands_

**_Fuck. Yes, I do. That ridged surface, mmm._ **

_yeah me too_

_its been too long_

_love me some balls_

**_Digging them, hitting them, taking some in the face…_ **

_oh talk dirty to me_

_yeah mmm_

_okay i need to take a break from sexy talk_

_gotta do lab shit_

**_Sounds good. Ichiro’s out of town for a week, so I can Skype if you want to. Haven’t seen your face in a while._ **

_yeah_

_that sounds great_

_i can call tonight_

**_Can’t wait._ **

_me neither_

_bye_

Still grinning, Issei spent a wonderful day writing, then enjoyed a brisk walk before piddling the evening away making awful jokes with Takahiro. It was more than he could handle sometimes, how flushed and giddy he’d feel when he saw his best friend’s smiling face on the other end. The felt eyebrows Takahiro had been wearing when he answered the call had nearly made Issei choke on his dinner, and he realized just how much he missed him. Somewhere in the course of their sporadic Skype calls, Issei had become painfully aware of how handsome Takahiro had become over the past few years. He had very slowly, almost imperceptibly, grown into his long limbs and his facial structure had become more defined. The physical distance and computer screens between them had made it really easy for Matsu to indulge in observing the line of Makki’s jaw, the twinkle in his eyes when he laughed too hard to breathe, or the way he ran his fingers through his now slightly-shaggy mop of hair when he was avoiding being serious. He made Issei feel drunk, a little off-kilter. So much so that he had to look down at his ring finger periodically to sober up. He tugged down the sleeves of the Seijou hoodie he then realized he had never returned to Takahiro. This wasn’t boding well for him in the least.

Right as they were about to hang up and call it a night, Takahiro got pensive.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“I was talking to my absolutely useless sister the other day-”

“The love is so strong.” Matsukawa deadpanned.

“Yes, it really is. Um, but yeah, I was talking to her and she suggested that I, well, you’re getting married and I figured this would be a good time. Ahhh, okay, this is kinda hard. Heh. Um. No. Serious. I have to be serious. So, uhh, did Momo ever tell you exactly why we broke up?”

“No, she always avoided it, and I didn’t pry. I figured it would come out once things settled. Same with you, you know? Sometimes you get all weird about things and hide them if you’re embarrassed, so I assumed you fucked up.”

“I really hate how well you know me.” Hanamaki covered his face with his hands, spreading two fingers apart to reveal an eye.

“So you did fuck up, then?”

“Yes.” Nodding solemnly, Hanamaki pried his hands away from his cheeks.

“Must’ve been bad. Nee-san was right, huh?”

“How in the hell did you get to be such good friends with my sister?”

“Communication. That, and she keeps telling me she’s going to adopt me if I don’t join the family soon. You can be my uncle!”

“That is so many shades of fucked up, you don’t even know.”

“I do. It’s great. But anyway, you were saying?”

“Yeah, so, she broke up with me because I, well, I’m still sort of and kind of have always been? Um, maybe just a little into someone else. By into, I mean…in love with. Ish.”

Issei tried not to look like he was about to cough up an internal organ. He suddenly felt like he had run a marathon instead of having sat on his couch for three hours.

“I didn’t even know.”

“That’s what I was hoping for. Uh. Shit.” Takahiro pulled his bangs back from his forehead with a trembling hand and Issei would have been swooning had he not been otherwise occupied with suppressing a manic giggle. He raised his eyebrows expectantly. “I would have really liked to do this in person, but I have no clue when I’m going to see you next. Uhh, well, I guess that gives it away. Spoiler alert! It’s you. It’s been you since Seijou. It is you. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. And I feel like I’m about to die so I’m going to hang up before I throw up on my keyboard or start crying or something equally embarrassing.” Matsu was fairly confident that he understood exactly how Makki was feeling at that exact moment. He gripped the blanket next to him on the couch and leveled his breathing before he could speak.

“Takahiro?”

“Huh?”

“You’re my best man, right?”

“Yeah. Of course.” Takahiro sounded like he was ready to cry. “That’s still okay?”

“Why the hell wouldn’t it be? I mean, you’re still the most important person in my life. Well, I feel like my parents might be mad if they heard me say that. But you know what I mean. Just because you’re a little gay for me won’t change anything.” Issei smiled crookedly and Takahiro’s laugh rang in his ears. It was the sound of pure relief. “Besides, I know how weak you are for my eyebrows. It was only a matter of time.”

“What can I say? I really am weak for the Neanderthal look.”

“Aren’t we all? You should go to bed, though. You look like shit and napping on your supervisor’s couch doesn’t count as sleep.”

“It does too, you lucky bastard that can discriminate based on sleep quality.”

“Go to bed. You make enough bad choices as it is.”

“I resent you for that statement.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t. Good night, then. I’m really glad we got to talk. All homo aside, you’re really missed.”

“I miss everyone too. Especially you. Full homo.”

Takahiro grinned broadly. “Good night.”

“Night.” The line went dead and Issei buried his face in his hands, hysterical laughter threatening to bubble up once again. Wiggles-sama made her appearance soon after, sensing some form of distress in her human. Issei placed his laptop down by his feet and spent the next few hours staring blankly at the ceiling, hoping the lack of sensory input would somehow help him resolve the muddled mess in his head. The kitten curled up on his chest purred soothingly, rucking up all the blankets to make herself comfortable.

“What would you do, you ridiculous pile of fur?” She meowed in a weird tone, partially opening her eyes to stare Issei down. “What? I need your advice.” Her response was to burrow further into the blanket, like the question wasn’t even worth considering. Issei hummed. Maybe she was right. Maybe it wasn’t a legitimate question at all. He slept.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hurt me.


	11. he's heating up, he can't say no

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sometimes you miss what's been in front of you all along, and if you're lucky, you realize it before it's too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT, FRIENDS. This chapter has left me emotionally winded. I have a few things to address:
> 
> 1\. Happy early birthday, Lea! I hope you enjoy this offering <3
> 
> 2\. THANK YOU SO MUCH to an old friend, [fuckurodanii](http://fuckurodanii.tumblr.com), and a new friend, [stellarspaceace](http://stellarspaceace.tumblr.com), for [this](http://8tracks.com/esraaawr/boiled-frogs-1) and [this](http://8tracks.com/stellarspaceace/boiled-frogs) playlist, respectively! I listened to them both while writing and having aggressive matsuhana emotions. Thanks again, seriously. Aaaaaaa, my feels are too much ;u;
> 
> 3\. I hope y'all have a great Valentine's Day. If you don't have a valentine, I am your valentine now. LET'S MAKE THE FRIENDSHIP.
> 
> 4\. Thank you yet again for all the comments and kudos. I know I'm slow af about replying, but I'll get there. I love each message so much and appreciate it even more.
> 
> 5\. ENJOY!!

            Hanamaki woke, his eyelids snapping open when his brain casually reminded him of his conversation the previous night. He took a deep, steadying breath, then buried his face in his pillow. A tiny part of him was hoping he had dreamed the entire scenario, but his dreams had never been that real. It wasn’t that his confession had ended awkwardly or with the dissolution of their friendship; Takahiro was unnerved because nothing had seemed to change. Issei did happen to be the most easygoing person walking the Earth, but even he should have had some awkward thoughts about how they would proceed as friends. Takahiro muffled a low scream in his pillow and rolled out of bed. The clock read 5:15, and he commended himself for managing to sleep in.

            The lab was blissfully silent at six am, and Makki began his morning preparations with his headphones in. He sashayed to the beat, wiggling when necessary, while the lab computer booted up. Once all the equipment was square to the bench, he threw on his lab coat, goggles and a pair of gloves and got to work. If anything could distract him, it was the quiet, pleasant monotony of preparing samples for the next week’s tests. He hummed along to an upbeat song, comically off-key as always, feeling strangely light.

 

             “Makki! I have a week off next month and I had a brilliant idea!” There was never a time that Oikawa Tooru wasn’t chipper when phoning people.

             “Let me guess, you want to take a vacation?”

             “Yes! Can you get a week off from the lab?”

             “Um, well, I’m technically finishing the majority of my thesis work this month if I’m lucky. We’ll see. In any case, I’ll talk to my supervisor. What’re the dates?”

             “October…um…hold on, let me check my calendar.”

             “Well, even I could have figured out the October part.”

             “Don’t be sassy. It’s from the 15th to the 23rd! I’d like to be back by the 21st, that is.”

             “What were you thinking?”

             “We should go surprise Matsu! I was thinking we’d all fly down, rent a hotel room, and then just spend some time with him. He mentioned something about Ichiro being out of town for most of next month on some project in Sydney.”

             Hanamaki lit up, but tried to play his excitement down. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

             “Don’t act like you’re not secretly jumping around with delight, Makki~” Oikawa teased in a sing-song voice, uncannily perceptive as always.

             “I don’t _jump around_. I merely selectively practice my calisthenics.”

             “Go check with your supervisor and let’s get our tickets, silly.”

             “Who are you calling silly? You’re probably wearing alien sweatpants that you _probably_ ordered off the internet and you _probably_ also tell Hajime your ass is out of this world when you wear them.” A moment of silence followed Makki’s statement during which he began howling with laughter.

             “It’s not funny! How do you know what I’m wearing?”

             “You think _I’m_ predictable.” Hanamaki leaned against his kitchen counter, switching his phone to his other ear. Oikawa grumbled on the other line.

             “Mean!”

             “Love you too, Tooru~”

             “You have to have some sort of weird mental link with Iwa-chan since you’ve been spending all that time together.”

             “Yep. Friends that lift together, drift together. Like in Pacifi-“

             “I _know_. Please.”

             “I swear, I had never seen two people fall in love so fast as the two of you did when the first Pacific Rim trailer came out. Aliens. Monsters. Two ugly nerds in love. So perfect!”

             “They weren’t ug-Makki!” Hanamaki snorted, waiting for the inevitable retaliation. “I am a perfect specimen of humanity, and Hajime is, by extension, also perfect.”

             “Excuse me while I laugh my way to a six-pack.”

             “Go get permission for your vacation before I come throw something at you.”

             “By you, do you mean Hajime?”

             “Yes. He’s closer and has heavier things at his disposal.”

             “Your Godzilla plush just wouldn’t have the same effect.”

             “Good-BYE!” Tooru huffed.

             “Bye, Tooru.” Takahiro chuckled lowly, “I’ll get back to you on those dates, okay?”

             “Sounds good. I miss you!”

             “Gay.”

             “Quiet, you.”

             “I miss you too. Go sleep. You have to be tired after practice.”

             “Becoming more and more like Hajime every day, huh?”

             “Christ.”

             “Good night~”

             “Night.”

 

 

 

          “How long are you going to keep doing this to yourself?” Matsu demanded of his graying reflection, a shadow of who he had once been. He unclasped the necklace around his neck, letting it and the ring dangling from it clatter on the counter. Every day felt like more ties coiling around his body, binding him to his fate, and he even felt leaden as he climbed in the shower for the first time in an embarrassing amount of days. As the water dripped off his fingertips, he thought back to one afternoon when he was eleven years old. The memory came unbidden, without context, but Issei indulged it. Anything to free himself from the cold fingers of anxiety.

 

_“Mom?”_

_“Yes?”_

_“How do you know when you’re in love with someone? Shinji told me he was in love with Rei but I don’t know what that means.”_

_“It’s hard to say. It’s different for everyone, Issei.”_

_“He said it was like a button. Like someone pressed it and-“ Issei imitated an explosion, throwing his hands outwards, “-love!”_

_“Well, for me, it was different, you know. I never noticed I was falling in love over many, many years.”_

_“So, you didn’t even_ know? _”_

_“There’s a difference. I didn’t know I was_ falling _in love,” She looked over at Issei’s father and smiled tenderly, “but realizing I_ was _in love was like a button and-” Issei provided the sound of the explosion. “Exactly!”_

_“Okay. I think I get it. Falling in love is sneaky, like a ninja, and then you get hit by a shuriken and you know?”_

_“Let’s say yes. There’s a moment, and then it feels like you’ve been hit by a shuriken.”_

_“Thanks, mom! I‘m gonna go play now. I’ll tell Shinji that he got hit with a shuriken of loooove tomorrow.” Issei paused in the doorway. “Being in love sounds dumb, though.”_

_“You’ll change your mind, I’m sure.”_

_“Maybe when I’m older!” He bolted outside as fast as his long legs could carry him, his volleyball tight in his hands._

         He chuckled at his own simple understanding, wondering if he had even gotten better at discerning love with age. It was a strange thing to think about, a feeling that you couldn’t describe or really put your finger on. His mom had been right when she had said that you never felt the process, just the result; it had been that way with Ichiro, though there was no moment like his mother had promised. Just a slow and steady tumble and a comfortable plateau. Issei wondered if this was it; this feeling that he had right now was how he was going to feel for the rest of his life about the man he would marry next year. It didn’t seem strong enough to tie two people together for a lifetime, but who was he to say? He still smiled when Ichiro came home from work, still enjoyed cuddling and talking to him when they weren’t fighting. Despite this, there was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind telling him Ichiro wasn’t good for him. The more he observed other people’s relationships, the more he wondered if all couples were hiding things like this when they were in public, only ever showing the happy, romantic comedy side when they walked holding hands and smiling brightly at one another. Maybe he and Ichiro just didn’t bother with facades. He finished lathering up his hair and tried to focus his thoughts on something different, something that wouldn’t cause him to re-evaluate every choice he had made in the last five years of his life. Takahiro’s face kept hovering at the edge of his consciousness like a taunt, and he wondered what that would have been like, the two of them dating. Issei’s mind insisted that it would have ended poorly, but he couldn’t help but think that was just a convenient lie.

 

 

            Issei stared at piles upon piles of samples and price quotes and a vast expanse of pearlescent, curly font.

           “Why do we need all this stuff? This is so expensive!” He moaned, dropping a stack of paper onto the table.

           “My parents don’t mind paying for it, though!” Ichiro chimed in, flipping through a catalogue.

           “But I do! I don’t want them to have to get a lot of stuff that we’re going to use once. It seems kinda pointless.”

            Ichiro tensed, his eyes flicking upward to stare at his fiancé. “Why, you don’t want it to be special?”

           “Of course I want it to be special, but it doesn’t have to come out of a catalogue to be special. It’s not any less meaningful if it’s small and intimate. Or even a city hall thing, you know?” Letting his elbows slide across the wooden surface, Issei leaned into his hands.

            “Absolutely not!”

            “I’m not saying we should do that, just that the most important part of the day is the part where we get married, right?”

            “Obviously, but how you do it says something, too.”

            “I don’t think it dictates the kind of marriage you’ll have. I just don’t think we need anything really fancy; it’s needlessly expensive and all I’d really like is to just have our close friends and family there. I want to marry _you_ , not all this stuff.” Issei gently placed a hand atop Ichiro’s, his voice softening at the end of the sentence.

            “Yeah, but it’s _our_ wedding, not just yours.”

            “I know. We can compromise and do something that fits us both, and doesn’t drive us all into bankruptcy.”

            “Why are you so against the kind of wedding I want?”

            “I’m not! I’m just worried we don’t have enough money for the wedding you want. That’s it. It’s just practicality, nothing else.”

            “My parents said we can go as far with it as we like. It’s really not a big deal.”

            “I’d rather not owe your parents that much. It’s not like the money is an investment. A lot of the stuff is just one-time-use, and it seems ridiculous to throw away a lot of money on it. Again, for me, it’s the marriage that’s important, not all the pomp and ceremony.”

            “You just don’t get it.” Ichiro withdrew his hand and leaned back into the chair angrily. “You really don’t.” Issei made a small, frustrated noise. He wanted nothing more than for Ichiro to be pleased and relaxed about the whole process; he shouldn’t have said anything in the first place.

            “Sorry. It’s fine. If it makes you happy, and your parents are okay with it, I’ll do anything. I want you to be happy, Ichiro.”

            “I know you do. Wanna go get some lunch now?” Brightening considerably, Ichiro got to his feet and grabbed the car keys.

            Issei put on his best smile. “Yeah, sure!” Fake it until you make it, he thought, worrying if wedding planning stress was going to put further strain on their relationship.

            Despite how close they were in the car minutes later, Ichiro felt so far away.

         

 

            They were at the airport obnoxiously early, thanks to the planning of one (1) Oikawa Tooru. Iwaizumi looked alert and surly, but in reality, he was probably asleep with his eyes open. Makki woke before five in the morning routinely, so the 7 am flight left him generally unfazed. He mainlined coffee while Oikawa chirped excitedly between yawns and bites of a mangled breakfast sandwich. Iwaizumi hadn’t moved in fifteen minutes, confirming the theory that he was indeed asleep. Oikawa and Hanamaki took several snapchats with him, peace signs framing his face, and made sure to send them to everyone except for Matsukawa. Tooru saved the photos to his phone beforehand, however; there was no way he was going to let Hajime live that down.

          The flight itself was uneventful as most of the passengers were asleep, Oikawa and Iwaizumi included. Hanamaki started the flight poring through several articles that he had brought with him, but he eventually dozed off in a reading position with his glasses sliding down his nose. The three only woke to eat meals and throw playful jabs at one another, too travel-tired to engage in long conversations.

            The last hour was torturous for Hanamaki; he woke abruptly and felt like he was going to jump out of his skin from excitement. He jiggled his leg incessantly, his heart rate steadily mounting. He nearly barreled through hundreds of people in his haste to get through the crowd and to a taxi once they had landed. Despite the intense pace, Oikawa casually commented on how great an idea it was for them to only bring carry ons, lest they waste time waiting at the baggage carousel. Hanamaki didn’t hear any of it, just the echoes of Iwaizumi’s booming laugh somewhere behind him. As the designee with Matsukawa’s address and a decent grasp of English, Hanamaki informed the cab driver of their destination and then proceeded to twitch for the entirety of the drive.

            It was close to dinnertime as they pulled up to a fairly modern-looking high rise and Iwaizumi paid the cab driver. Makki was out like a shot, forgetting he had, in fact, traveled with two other people.

            “Takahiro, are you excited? I can’t tell!” Iwaizumi cupped a hand and yelled from the cab. Hanamaki flipped the bird and disappeared into the lobby where an older man held the door for him. He was beyond delighted because this meant the surprise would be complete. He held the door while Iwaizumi and Oikawa caught up, both grinning in anticipation. Hanamaki wasn’t the only one excited. None of the three had really taken any time to observe their new surroundings, their minds too preoccupied with their perfectly planned surprise. They figured they had a full week to enjoy Melbourne, but that night, they were focused on Matsu.

            The elevators, according to Takahiro, were much slower than in Japan, and should all be replaced in the future. Their doors also opened too slowly for his liking, and he squirmed through the barely human-sized opening and power-walked down the sensibly cream-coloured hallway, not bothering to check which direction 514 was. He skidded to a halt in front of a simple white door, black wrought-iron numbers denoting the correct apartment. His heart was hammering in his chest only partially due to his sprint; Takahiro hoped he wasn’t too sweaty and gross as he lifted a hand to knock on the door. By the time he heard irritated cursing in a familiar lazy drawl, Hanamaki was clutching Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s hands like an excited child would his parents’. The two exchanged a knowing look behind his head.

 

 

 

            Issei rubbed his eyes, wondering if he had hallucinated the knocking on his door. He didn’t ever get any visitors, and the maintenance staff always called before dropping by. He threw the blanket off himself and trudged to the door, muttering a few choice words as he opened it. Hanamaki blinked at him. He blinked back. Oikawa beamed. Even Iwaizumi was grinning from ear to ear. Matsukawa continued blinking in disbelief. It wasn’t until Makki’s arms were wrapped around him that his brain clicked into gear, squeezing him back with equal fervor, face tucked into the crook of his shoulder. He took a deep breath, laughing as the familiar scent of Hanamaki’s cologne brought him back down to earth. Soon, Oikawa and Iwaizumi joined the dog pile, the different cadences of happiness all blending together into one noisy mess.

            “What are you doing here?” Matsukawa held them all at arm’s length, scanning their faces.

            “We’re taking a vacation in Australia, what does it look like?” Hanamaki quipped, allowing himself to get yanked into another tight hug. He clung onto Matsukawa’s sweater, wanting nothing more than to stay there for as long as humanly possible, feeling Issei’s heart beating steadily. Oikawa and Iwaizumi took their shoes off and walked inside, leaving the two of them to their moment.

            “You’ve picked a pretty great place to vacation. I’ll have to show you around tomorrow.” Matsukawa told them, loosening his grip on Makki for a moment. They parted, eyes half-moons of joy. “Are any of you hungry? Thirsty? Well, thirsty for a drink. I know you’re all thirsty as hell.”

            Iwaizumi was the first to reply. “I’m okay, just dead. We should go check into the hotel first, though.”

            “Oh, you’re not staying here?”

            “We figured it wouldn’t be fair to show up and then ask to take over your home.” Matsukawa raised his hands to his shoulders in a mixture of offense and confusion.

            “Really. You thought I’d tell you no?”

            “No, we were trying to be polite!” Oikawa yawned, though the sound turned into a squeal when her highness, Wiggles-sama, purred her way into the room. “You have a cat! Look at her! She’s so gorgeous!”

            “God help us now. We’ll never leave.” Hajime droned, though he too was admiring Wiggles-sama from afar. She leapt up on the couch and fixed her gray eyes on the new arrivals, judging silently.

            “This is my cat, Wiggles-sama. She goes by The Wig. Or Asshole. It depends on what shit she’s pulled that day. Basically just yell a noun at her?” Matsukawa walked over and picked her up, grinning at her pleased meow. “As a warning, she only really seems to like me, so proceed with caution. Well, she just doesn’t like Ichiro and avoids him like the plague, for whatever reason.” Hanamaki felt a wildly inappropriate comment about animals having a sixth sense bubbling up, so he steered the conversation away violently.

            “So, you just stay with us at the hotel. We booked two queen size beds.”

            “I’d love to, but I don’t want to leave the furball by herself.”

            “Ah yeah, well, I can stay here, then, and you two,” Makki pointed from Oikawa to Iwaizumi and back, “can have disgusting and disrespectful hotel room sex.” Matsukawa barked a laugh.

            “Okay, yeah, that’s actually a good idea. Not the sex, well, the sex too. You two have fun, and ‘Hiro and I can play Mario Kart until we murder each other. I may feed you too, if you’re good.” Matsu wiggled his eyebrows lecherously at Hanamaki, who returned the gesture.

            “Oh, but I’m never good.”

            “Please, talk dirty-“

            “I feel like the two of you just had more eye sex than the actual sex I will be having later tonight. So inappropriate!”

            “Tooru, announcing that we’re going to fuck later tonight doesn’t really exempt us from being inappropriate.”

            “ _Iwa-chan_. Let’s go check in. Makki, you stay here, we’ll just grab you a room key so you two can come-“ Matsukawa and Hanamaki both raised a suggestive eyebrow and nudged each other in the ribs, “oh for _fuck’s sake_!” To anyone else, Oikawa would have sounded mad, but the way his lips stretched around a grin said otherwise.

            “Did you just _swear,_ Tooru? Have fun, Hajime. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

            “Oh, I will. Your imagination’s pretty limited, Takahiro.”

            “You two really have been spending too much time together.” Matsukawa smirked when both of them shrugged. “Also, wouldn’t it just be easier if I drove you over there?” Oikawa and Iwaizumi paused.

            “Actually, that would be great. If you don’t mind.”

            “Why would I mind? It’s not often I get to drive, anyway!”

            Matsukawa and Hanamaki dropped the bickering couple off and were waved away. Ten minutes later, Makki’s phone rang.

            “You will not believe this.” The tone of Oikawa’s voice was dead serious and a little unsettling.

            “What’s wrong?” Hanamaki put him on speakerphone as they reentered Matsukawa’s apartment quietly.

            “Nothing’s wrong. Our hotel room has two great beds _and_ -“ In the background, they could hear Iwaizumi laughing throatily. “-a bathroom window.”

            “I mean, okay, that’s not that weird.” Hanamaki said.

            Oikawa took a deep breath and responded with an eerie calm. “No. It faces the room.”

            “There is a window between the room and the bathroom.” Matsukawa reaffirmed.

            “ _Yes_.” Tooru was struggling to keep his composure by that point.

            “So you can just-“ Matsu snorted.

            “-poke your head in-“ Makki bit down on his lip, eyes shining with mirth.

            “-and-“ Matsu started, quickly cut off by Oikawa.

            “There is a curtain.”

            “Ah, a privacy curtain.” Makki confirmed.

            “Naturally, yes. It comes standard with all bathroom windows. Pooping privacy.” Matsu continued.

            “Matsu. Makki. You don’t get it. The curtain is on the outside of the window.” Oikawa’s voice was nearing hysteria.

            “The-“ Matsu’s eyes were round and excited.

            “Outside? Like, the bedroom side?” Makki’s were even more so.

            “ _Yes_.” Oikawa was gone. His laughter crackled through the speakers and they heard a thud that was mostly likely Iwaizumi trying to reclaim his own sanity. All four of the men kept guffawing, a chain reaction that could not stop. Matsukawa and Hanamaki were wiping tears from their eyes when Oikawa took a deep, wheezy breath in and wished them a good night. Makki and Matsu echoed the sentiment, and then hung up. When they made eye contact after, they burst into hysterics yet again.

            “Holy shit. We have to investigate that tomorrow.”

            “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

            “Oh, by the way, are you tired? Hungry?”

            “I could eat, but I’m not ready to sleep yet. I slept on the plane and probably drank enough coffee to kill a lesser man, so I’m good.”

            “Do you want to go for a walk, then? There’s a nice beach we could drive to and get some dinner.”

            “Yeah, sure. It looks like the sun is about to set, so this is about to get all sorts of romantic. Are you trying to seduce me?”

            “Always. Is it working?”

            “Give me a beer and ask me again once I’m done.” Makki purred in his best Lolita impression, pressing an index finger against his bottom lip. Matsu laughed.

            “Well, we can grab a drink with dinner and fast-forward this seduction. After all, you’re only here for a week.”

            “You think highly of me if you think it takes that much effort to seduce me. Throw me a beer, pay for my ramen, and I am open for business, sir.” Hanamaki laid his open hands face-up on his hips, creating a v. The Wig appeared between his ankles, swishing her tail and scrutinizing him.

            “Noted.” Matsukawa’s eyes flicked downwards, drawn by the movement, then back up at Hanamaki. He pointedly ignored the irritated mewling.

            “For you, I may make an exception.”

            “Haven’t you already?” Matsu grabbed his car keys again, stopping to rub his cat’s head before heading for the door.

            “You fucker.” Makki punched Matsu in the arm playfully, shoving his wallet in his back pocket.

            “Takes one to know one. Come on, get your shoes on and let’s go before you pass out on me.”

            “That sounds like my first year of uni.”

            “Yeah, where I was the asshole carrying you. Or vice versa. I was the one carrying the asshole.”

            “Not my fault you couldn’t hold my liquor.”

            “That makes no fucking sense.”

            “No, it doesn’t. Let’s go before I get any dumber.” Matsu forgot his phone at home in his eagerness to leave. Left on silent, it rang and rang.

            They parked off on a small side street, joining a small crowd of people as they meandered over towards the water. The days were getting longer as Melbourne fully embraced spring, so the sun had only begun its descent to the horizon when they set foot on the boardwalk. Makki insisted they get some ice cream as dinner because they were adults and that is what adults were morally obligated to do. Matsu watched Makki slowly lick his cone as they meandered, savouring every last bit with a delighted smile on his face. He was silent when he ate dessert, no matter what it was; Matsu always thought it was cute because nothing else could quiet him in the same way. While distracted, Issei had completely missed all the melted ice cream running down his hand and endured Takahiro’s teasing until he washed it off in the ocean.

            “You need to learn to appreciate the sweeter things in life, Issei.” Hanamaki admonished, finishing off his cone with a pleased sound.

            “I do, just not the same ones as you.”

            “Then you have shit taste. Who doesn’t appreciate ice cream? Heathens, that’s who.”

            “And the lactose intolerant, probably.”

            “Then you take those pills and commit to explosive diarrhea for an evening. Life is not for regrets. It’s for living.”

            “We should put that on a poster. I’m sure it’d be a hit.”

            “I’d hang it in my room.”

            “I would too. It’d really pick me up on those shitty weekday mornings where I have nothing to do.”

            “It must be nice being unemployed.”

            “Terrible. I can’t even do freelance work, you know? I have no idea what to do with my time and I don’t know. I can’t even write. I feel like I should’ve finished three novels by now.”

            “There’s no rush. You’ll find something soon, provided all your paperwork gets sorted, right? Then you can work here.” Hanamaki looked up at Matsukawa as he pulled off his shoes and stepped on the sand.

            “I’m not really confident in my English yet-”

            “By the way, your accent is cute.”

            “You’re a turd, and I’m still jealous of the fact your English is almost better than mine and I _live_ here.”

            “It wouldn’t be fair if everyone was as perfect as me. It’d be such a boring world, Issei. So dull. Nothing to strive for!” Matsukawa pulled his shoes off and shoved Hanamaki towards the water, chuckling when Makki just barely stopped himself from falling into it. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

            “Or what? You’ll stare me to death? Please.” Matsukawa dodged a punch headed for his arm and took off down the beach, struggling to gain on Hanamaki in the sand. They ran down the beach, away from the city and towards a long pier as the sky began to redden above them. Hanamaki threw one of his shoes, panting from exhaustion and laughter, collapsing to his knees when the projectile slip-on took Matsukawa out via the back of his knee. They lay in the sand, chests heaving, while passers by periodically wandered past them, never veering too close. Makki crawled over, dumping a handful of sand on Matsu’s crotch and gesturing triumphantly. He breathed hard, grinning, never truly able to tear his eyes away from his best friend.

            “Good luck getting that out of your underwear. Loser.” He sat up, pulling his knees up to his chest, one hand extended to help Matsu into a sitting position. Matsu leaned back on his hands, sighing happily, the endorphins still coursing through his veins. He hadn’t been able to shake the smile from his face in hours and it seemed like he wasn’t about to start then. Matsu was about to say something sassy to counter Makki’s jibe, but every thought he had in his head ground to a halt abruptly. Makki was resting the side of his head on his own crossed arms, only his eyes visible above his hoodie sleeve. The gold of the setting sun was alighting on his shoulders and neck, tangling in his hair and making his eyes shine brightly. They shone too brightly for Matsu to stare at them for long, yet they were impossible to turn away from. The corners of Makki’s eyes were crinkled in a way that Matsu knew was from a broad, genuine smile, the kind that wasn’t often given. Dimly, in the back of his mind, his eleven-year-old self imitated the sound of an explosion and Matsu started laughing. Of course. Now, after all these years, his mind finally caught up with his heart. Takahiro raised a curious eyebrow, his eyes still soft, gentle, _adoring_ and Issei couldn’t imagine or fathom how he had ever thought his emotions were just friendly. He had loved the man in front of him since they were both boys, nearly ten years prior, awkward and growing into their limbs. He had loved him for _years_ and here he was, about to marry Ichiro, finally coming to terms with the fact that the only person he could actually see himself with for the rest of his life was here, next to him, in love with him too. Issei breathed in deeply, forcing himself to look away, leaning forward over his lap. He stared off across the water, feeling a throb in his chest that was more longing than anxiety.

            “You okay?” The words were muffled by fabric but attracted Matsu’s attention regardless.

            “Yeah, I’m fine. Great, actually.” Matsu paused to turn his head. “I’m really glad you’re here.” He smiled gently, running a sandy hand through his hair and immediately regretting his decision to do so.

            “Me too.” _I love you_ died on his lips because there was no point in saying it. There was no point in indulging himself and further stringing Makki along with false hope. Issei was going to marry someone else in a year, and his and Makki’s story was one that had ended before it had a chance to begin. What they did have, however, was a lifelong bond, one that would withstand the rougher patches and hold them together when life tried to tear them apart. Matsu was certain of this, and took solace in it because he desperately needed a reason to not let one visit tear down the life he had slowly been building with Ichiro.

            They wandered back towards the car after the sun had gone down, completely forgetting that they had gone out initially in search of food. Matsu stole glances at Makki’s smiling face whenever he could, his attempts at subtlety anything but. Now that he had broken that particular dam, no powers that be could stop the flow.

Takahiro dozed on the drive back, punctuating companionable silence with loud yawns and muttered comments about the gorgeous city lights. It took all of Issei’s willpower to watch the road instead of his passenger.

            Once Matsukawa and Hanamaki arrived back at the apartment, Makki dramatically stumbled forward and face-planted onto the couch with a flourish.

            “Let me get you a futon or something, hold on. Unless you want to share my bed? I’m fine with that too. “ Matsu had contemplated whether offering up his bed was inappropriate or not, but thought better of it; it would have been stranger of him not to. Makki turned his head a fraction so he could make eye contact.

            “I’d feel weird sleeping in his place, so I’m good here. Can I have a blanket?”

            “I’m thinking of leaving your ass to freeze out here. The Wig may decide to spare you and warm a half meter square of your back at some point.”

            “Ah, good.” Makki threw out a hand to catch the projectile blanket, spluttering when the majority of the fleece hit his face instead. “You’re a terrible host.”

            “Uh-uh. Need anything else?”

            “A bedtime story and a kiss goodnight?”

            “You only get one.”

            “Stingy bastard.” Makki grumbled, unable to cover himself properly using a single hand. Matsu walked over and rolled him up like a burrito. The cat leapt onto Makki’s back and kneaded the spot she had decided to claim.

            “Once upon a time, you went to sleep. The end.” He pecked Makki on the temple and righted himself, hands on his hips. “There, are you happy now?” Matsu felt his pulse quicken when he saw the blush high on Makki’s cheeks. Makki nodded, hiding his face in the pillow.

            “I’m good. She’s really warm.” He mumbled, extracting one arm from his blanket trap to reach back and run his hand through her fur. She purred like a creature twice her size and Matsu felt immense relief that she had accepted Hanamaki. He hadn’t realized how much it meant to him that his extremely picky fur child liked his best friend.

            “She is. Good night, nerd.”

            “Night, bigger nerd.” Matsu shook his head as he walked back into his bedroom and changed into his pyjamas. He then laid awake in bed for what felt like hours, an indescribably powerful feeling of guilt kneading his stomach. Wiggles-sama padded into the bedroom after a brief nap on Makki and leapt onto the bed next to Issei. He absentmindedly scratched behind her ears. For a moment, Matsu considered the world that would open up to him if he were to go back to Tokyo, to his friends, to the city he had grown to love over years. The more he let his mind wander, the more painful it was to return to the here and now; he’d made his decisions and he was happy. There were definitely days where he was happy and he shouldn’t let the bad days, the lethargic days, the painful days make him think he’d be better off somewhere else. It was just having his friends, and _Takahiro,_ so close to him again that made him yearn for the life that could have been. He never- he seldom had these thoughts when it was just he and Ichiro, curled up on the bed, watching a movie. Issei sighed deeply, and, hearing no stirring from the living room, rolled over and fell into a fitful sleep.

 

 

            “Okay, but consider this: what if-” Oikawa pointed at Iwaizumi with a limp fry.

            “Tooru, could you just eat your burger? Your conspiracy theories are making my beef taste bland.”

            “But your beef is never bland, Iwa-chan!” The colour rose visibly up Iwaizumi’s neck and face. Oikawa laughed airily, fluttering his lashes. Iwaizumi took a retaliatory slurp of Oikawa’s milkshake.

            “Gross.” Hanamaki commented, cheeks full of food.

            “Truly revolting.” As he was wont to do, Matsukawa elaborated.

            “Where is Kunimi’s PDA police when you need it?”

            Iwaizumi threw a napkin at Hanamaki’s head. “You two act like you’re any better. Heaven help us if you two were fucking. You would communicate entirely in innuendo.”

            “We don’t have to be fucking for that to happen, Hajime.” Hanamaki threw the napkin back at Iwaizumi, challenging him with his eyes.

            “We’re just very _firm_ in our friendship.” Matsukawa happily took the starting role.

            “Tearing us apart would be a _long_ and _hard_ process.”

            “Impossible, even, though we may give after awhile.”

            “But even if we loosen-”

            “Okay, we _get it_.” Oikawa coughed loudly.

            “I haven’t even gotten to talking about my beef.” Matsu whined.

            Makki nodded in agreement. “Or my pickle. It’s awfully thick. Kinda knobbly.”

            “Mm, I’m sure that feels nice on the tongue.”

            “Who allows you to go outside?” Iwaizumi smacked the heel of his hand on his forehead, making a last-ditch effort to be the mature adult while a tittering Oikawa surreptitiously stole fries off his plate.

            “Our own will.” Makki speared a pickle slice and offered it to Matsu, who curled his tongue around it suggestively before swallowing it whole. Makki watched his face contort while he struggled to swallow the awkwardly shaped morsel.

            “Looks like you can’t handle my pickle after all. Sad.” Iwaizumi broke, choking on his drink, and soon Makki was smacking Matsu on the back to hopefully ward off the need for the Heimlich manoeuver. Oikawa was wheezing through his attempts to reprimand Hanamaki for being so ill behaved in public, thereby losing any effectiveness he may have otherwise had.

            The four friends spent the entire week sightseeing, eating, startling each other with well-timed parting of the hotel bathroom curtain, making off-colour jokes and generally enjoying each other’s company. On the final night, Iwaizumi and Hanamaki were in the kitchen grabbing drinks while Matsukawa and Oikawa chatted out on the balcony.

            “Hajime, hold on.” Hanamaki stopped Iwaizumi with his elbow.

            “Huh? What’s up?”

            “I know this is completely out of the blue, but I’ve been thinking about it for- well, for months. A while. It’s been-”

            “Get on with it.”

            “So, I told Issei.”

            “Told him what?” Iwaizumi gently lowered the cold bottles onto the counter and leaned against the surface.

            “I told him why Momo broke up with me. The actual reason.”

            “You mean because you’re still in love with him?”

            “Yes, that.”

            “Why can’t you say it out loud?” The Wig appeared behind Makki’s legs and stared at Iwaizumi, swishing her bushy tail.

            “It feels shameful? I don’t know. Seriously, you’ve been so fucking weird and doctor-y since starting that psych rotation.”

            “No, I just know you and the fact that you avoid things you don’t like until they go away, or until they break you.”

            “I’m getting better.” Makki countered, crossing his arms and curling slightly into himself.

            “Debatable.”

            “What do you mean ‘debatable’? I am becoming a capital A adult.”

            “You’re _actively_ avoiding the topic right now.”

            “Shit.” Hanamaki ran a hand through his hair and leaned his butt against the counter. Iwaizumi nudged him with his shoulder and opened a beer.

            “Here. I’m glad you told him, though. He was probably unfazed, huh?”

            “I was honestly surprised.”

            “Did you think he’d just stop talking to you?”

            “I thought he’d maybe take a step back from our friendship, or something.” Iwaizumi laughed throatily, casually smacking Hanamaki’s arm with the back of his hand as he walked away. Makki grabbed the rest of the bottles and followed, brow furrowed.

            “What does that even mean?”

            “Oi, Tooru, grab your watery beer. It’s cold.” Iwaizumi was out on the balcony and the conversation was over. Matsukawa caught Hanamaki’s eye through the glass door and beckoned him out with a tilt of his head and lips. Makki stepped over the threshold and onto the concrete, nestling himself in the space along the railing left between Iwaizumi and Matsukawa.

            “Squeeze in, I’m cold.” He commanded, wrapping his lips around the bottle and taking a swig. Makki made a sour face the moment the liquid hit his tongue. “Who picked the beer, though? What _is_ this?”

            “It was on sale, is what it is. Don’t even act like you have standards because I’ve tasted the swill you call ‘good’.” Matsu tapped Makki’s forehead with the side of his bottle and grinned mischievously.

            “Just because your taste buds are dead doesn’t mean mine are. Ugh.”

            Oikawa poked his cheek. “Maaakkii~ don’t look the gift horse in the mouth, now!”

            “Fine.” Hanamaki grumbled, resting his elbows on the railing and leaning down. Whether it was subconscious or not, Makki wouldn’t ever know, but Matsukawa rested his warm weight against his side and hummed happily. The proximity made him dizzy. They all stared out at the city beyond, at the horizon barely visible from dazzlingly reflective skyscrapers, and sighed in succession. Nobody wanted to break the silence, but nothing needed to be said anyway; they were all glad to have come and finally been able to reconnect in a meaningful way. Iwaizumi’s hand rested on the small of Oikawa’s back, rubbing gently, and he leaned in to press a kiss on his temple and smile. Tooru bowed his head and rested it against Hajime’s, letting his eyes flutter closed. Matsu nudged Makki to draw attention to the nauseatingly adorable spectacle and they rolled their eyes in tandem, pretending to gag. Despite how dramatically and vehemently they both rejected public displays of affection, both Hanamaki and Matsukawa were feeling more than a little twinge of jealousy. Makki felt a tightness in his throat that he attempted to wash away by chugging the rest of his beer and abruptly leaving to go find another. He cited a sudden change in his taste buds and returned with his new bottle half-empty. Matsu glanced down at it, then up at Makki, pursing his lips.

            “Don’t you judge me. I’m miserable and alone.”

            “You may be miserable, but you’re never alone.”

            “Ah, fuck your charming sentiments.” Once again, Matsu never failed to make Makki smile.

            “Maybe later. You know what we still haven’t discussed? How your biceps are nearly the size of Hajime’s. When the hell did that happen?” Matsu steered the conversation away, appreciatively squeezing Makki’s admittedly sizeable upper arm.

            “It’s not like it fucking helps me beat him in arm wrestling. I swear to God, I could be the size of a Strong Man competitor, and I would still lose.”

            “That’s true. I have to admire your persistence, though.” Iwaizumi said, smirking around the mouth of a bottle.

            “Don’t patronize me, Hajime. Tooru, stop swooning. I can hear you mentally undressing him.”

            “I doubt he’s ever dressed in his mind to begin with, honestly.” Issei commented offhand, nudging Takahiro. Tooru feigned innocence and turned to follow a bird’s flight path up into the sky.

            “You know, sometimes I wish that you could install aftermarket filters on people.”

            Takahiro draped himself on Hajime. “Oh, but Iwa-chan~ you would miss our filthy minds so much~”

            “Kyaaaaa~” Issei added his body weight to Takahiro’s, softly imitating the squeals that used to follow Oikawa down the halls of Seijou. Tooru leaned back against the railing and watched the scene as an amused outside observer, cheeks sore from grinning. His nose was scrunched up with giggles as Hajime tried to swat the two larger men off himself unsuccessfully, only serving to fuel their amusement.

 

 

 

            “I am not taking another selfie. Do any of us have any memory left? We’ve taken so many damn photos-”

            “Hajime, we’re preserving memories!”

“He may preserve your face if you don’t take the picture, Tooru.” The words left Makki’s mouth a little tightly, given the fact he was trying to smile while speaking.

            Matsu snorted. “What does that even mean?”

            “I don’t know. It made sense when it came out of my mouth.”

            “Ayyyyy. That should be the title of your biography-”

            “Makki! Matsu! Stop talking and smile!” Oikawa snapped several more photos, then threw his arms around Matsu. “Come visit as soon as you can, okay?”

            “I’ll see when we can come up to visit. I don’t want to only see everyone once a year.”

            “Take care of yourself, Issei, alright?” Iwaizumi said gruffly, giving Matsukawa a quick embrace. Matsu nodded and thanked him, turning to Makki. Hanamaki felt queasy, a strange fluttering feeling climbing up his throat, sending twitchy impulses down his limbs. He plastered a large smile on his face to hide the obvious discomfort and buried his face in Matsu’s neck. Hidden from everyone with Matsu’s arms holding him closely, and feeling unexpectedly bold, he pressed a gentle kiss to the base of Matsu’s neck before pulling away. He immediately regretted the decision, and it was written all across his face. Makki mouthed an apology and quickly turned to leave, the fleeting boldness having since dissipated. Oikawa and Iwaizumi shifted their weight with the intent on leaving as well, waving and smiling sadly. They were completely oblivious to what had just happened.

           Issei watched them all leave, but he felt like Takahiro had taken all of Issei’s air with him. Matsu’s eyes lingered, his arms crossed tightly in front of his aching chest, trying to ease the dull throb. He felt vaguely nauseated deep down, but the pleasant tingle radiating out from where Makki had kissed him kept the persistent feeling at bay for long enough for him to nearly float back to his car and dazedly drive home.

            Once he had closed his apartment door, he let his forehead drop against the wood, too overwhelmed to even hear his cat’s meowing at his feet.

 

 

 

            “You’ve been in a better mood lately and you’ve been writing a lot.”

            “Yeah, I think I’ve just been reenergized. Seeing my friends was nice, you know?”

            “Did you miss me at all?”

            “Of course I did.”

            “You hardly answered my calls.”

            “We talked once a day?”

            “Apparently, you were too busy having fun with people that aren’t your fiancé. Why are we together, again?”

            “Ichiro, just because we weren’t talking all day long doesn’t mean I didn’t miss you.”

            “I’m really mad you let them come here.”

            “They surprised me by showing up! What was I supposed to do?”

            “Nothing. You should’ve answered my calls and texts instead of, I don’t know, waiting hours to do so?”

            “Why don’t you like it when I talk to other people?”

            “Those friends aren’t good for you. Why can’t you make friends here?”

            “Where? How? I can’t get a job? My English is still really awkward and I’m not about to randomly talk to strangers on the street to make friends.”

            “You’re going to have to eventually.”

            “Okay.”

 

 

 

          Momo was walking with a spring in her step, Takahiro noticed, and her hair was shorter than he remembered it. They hugged tightly, taking a turn into the café for the first time in months.

          “How’ve you been, superstar? How’s the life of scholastic regret?” Hanamaki lifted his eyebrows so they were visible over his comically oversized cup of coffee.

          “Well, I now officially understand why you feel like you are permanently in a burning building, and your revolting caffeine habit has rubbed off on me.”

          “Ah, good.” Makki nodded sagely, absentmindedly picking at a haggard cuticle.

          “I’m not quite at your level because I don’t think I weigh enough to tolerate that quantity of caffeine, but I’m getting close. It’s good, though. Transition metal catalysts are _so_ cool, you know?” She was glowing, despite the bags evident beneath her eyes.

          “I’m glad to hear you’re enjoying it, honestly. Despite all my whining and complete disregard for my own well-being, I love what I’m doing, so. I hope it stays the same for you.”

          “You know that it’s terrifying when you talk like an adult.”

          “You act like I _never_ -“ Momo arched an eyebrow, her smile slowly spreading across her cheeks. “Okay, well.”

          “I’m kidding. How’re things on your end?”

          Hanamaki inhaled deeply, exhaling with a pathetic whine. “I’m writing my thesis and it’s the absolute fucking worst. It’s not like I don’t know what I’m writing about, it’s that I don’t wanna.”

          “Isn’t that university in a nutshell?”

          “Pretty much. I’m really trying to be done by the end of March, though. I have a few weeks left and it’s, well, I’m a little distracted.”

          “The wedding?”

          “Ehhhhh.”

          “Is that a yes?”

         “Yeah. So, Ichiro is still pushing the idea of a big western-style wedding and I have _no idea_ what that’s all about. Basically, it’s Issei and me and Weddings for Dummies, but it usually ends up being us trying to find the tackiest weddings and invites possible. God, you should see some of this shit-“ Takahiro looked up, a grin on his face, to find Momo smiling softly. “What?”

         “You two.” She leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand.

         “Eh?”

         “You love each other so much, it’s almost poetic.”

         “Ah.” He shrugged, poking his cheeks in with his forefingers. “It doesn’t go away, the smile.”

         “It really doesn’t. Um. I’m sorry, I just- anyway. ”

         “Yeah, uh, have you been seeing, uh, anyone? Wow, that wasn’t awkward at all.”

          Momo giggled. “Actually, yeah. I’ve been on a few dates with one of the guys in the lab down the hall.” Takahiro had expected that knowledge to hurt more than it did. Nearly a year later, and they had only recently gotten back into a comfortable level of communication; it was only natural that relationships would happen eventually.

         “Oh. Well, that’s great. Really.”

         “I’m enjoying him so far. He’s really sweet and funny, but I’ll stop just in case this gets super weird. This isn’t weird, is it?” She chewed the inside of her cheek, expectant.

         “Nah, I mean, this is progress, right? I don’t want to forget we were together, but I also want us to be able to share things again, you know?” Takahiro dragged his finger around the rim of his mug. “So no. Not weird.” They both smiled. Momo placed her hand over Takahiro’s and squeezed once gently.

         “Good. Also, hold on, I found this meme when I was walking over here and didn’t have time to send it to you-“ Takahiro leaned in, peering over her phone to see what she had been talking about.

 

 

 

            One morning, Matsu opened his eyes slowly, putting a hand up to guard them from the obnoxious sunshine. He woke with a single thought in his head. A single thought so terrifying in scope that he hardly knew what to do with it. He climbed out of bed carefully, like the very apartment could hear his traitorous mind, and careful movement was the only way to keep his secret. It was all paranoia, of course, but living under someone’s thumb for as long as Matsu had tended to make a person sensitive. He pushed the sleeves of his sweatshirt up, only mildly irritated by how short they were when they weren’t rolled. Ichiro was fast asleep and snoring on his side of the bed. Issei padded into the kitchen followed by the giant pile of sentient fluff that was his cat, made himself some tea, and carefully scooped some food into The Wig’s bowl. She dug in with gusto as Issei himself picked at a piece of toast. He knew that he should eat, but his aversion to food had slowly been resurfacing. He curled up on the armchair once he was done, grabbing a novel and making some room next to him. He read for nearly two quiet hours, occasionally exchanging a text or a cat snapchat with Takahiro. When Ichiro stirred in the room adjacent, Issei held his breath, hoping he wasn’t about to wake just yet. The Sunday morning silence was something he wanted to last for as long as possible. Wiggles-sama put a paw on the back of Issei’s hand, looking up at him.

            “What? Use your words.” She meowed. “I don’t speak cat. You should make an effort to learn Japanese. Or at least English.” The Wig meowed more insistently. Issei meowed back at her, chuckling at the way she recoiled in offense.

            “You should really get a job. Freeloader.” He muttered to her, returning back to his book. Reading would surely calm the nagging thoughts in his mind.

 

 

 

            Hanamaki had been staring at the introduction of his thesis for three solid hours, and had only managed to write a paltry selection of words: “Someone please kill me, this is misery.” He had picked up his phone no fewer than four dozen times, hoping for a text or some other excuse to not write. Seeing as how he had specifically asked his friends not to message him for a week in preparation for the power-writing process, it came as no surprise that the phone may as well have been off. Makki sighed, deleted his sentence and turned on the TV. He watched three romantic comedies in a row before he decided that the genre was shit, and he would never get those six hours of his life back. He did, however, remember that a new season of the Bachelor was on and he immediately changed the channel for some soul cleansing. His phone rang and Makki’s lips curled upwards knowing who it was.

           “I figured you’d remember.” Makki picked at an uneven nail.

           “I don’t have to hide anymore since Tooru doesn’t live here.”

          “Wanna come over? There’s still ten minutes before it starts and I have unholy amounts of udon left ov-” Iwaizumi didn’t even wait for Hanamaki to finish his sentence.

          “I’ll see you in seven.” The call ended with the rustle of Iwaizumi’s jacket and the jangle of keys.

 

 

 

          “Hey, Tooru?”

          “Oh, hi Matsu! How’re you?”

          “I’m doing okay. Do you have a minute?”

          “For you, I have at least an hour.”

          “Oh. You sure?”

          “Of course~”

         “Uh, thanks. I don’t really want to beat around the bush, but um, so, given the fact that you and Hajime are pretty much married-” Tooru made a small, delighted sound. “-gross. Yeah, I just- how did you know? I mean, what made you absolutely know that he’s the person you want with you forever?” Matsukawa tried his best to stay confident and casual, but he knew better than to think Oikawa wouldn’t pick up on his emotions. He’d known him much too long for that.

         “You know, I had never really thought about it. There wasn’t really a single moment where it hit me, more that every single time I think about anything in the future, he’s there. Does that make sense? And it’s not even when I think about _our_ future specifically, it’s when I think of any future. If I think of going back to Seijou to visit with you and Takahiro, Hajime’s there. If I think about Takeru growing up and awkwardly dating as a teenager, I see Hajime giving him advice, even though he would give _awful_ advice. He would probably tell him to throw volleyballs or something-” No matter what, every time Tooru so much as mentioned Hajime, his voice would take on a gentler tone, and Issei was sure that neither of the lovebirds was aware of this fact. He smiled warmly at the thought.

          Matsu chortled. “It wooed you, didn’t it?”

         “I’m not sure being pelted by sports equipment was what wooed me, but we’ll say yes. Anyway, I just can’t really imagine any scenario in my head that doesn’t feature my favourite angry porcupine of a man.”

         “Mm.”

         “Have you been thinking about you and Ichiro? I don’t think you’d call me unless you were really concerned.” Matsukawa folded the napkin in front of him into increasingly smaller squares.

         “No, I- I just, I’ve been thinking a lot about what could have been, instead of what is. Sort of. And I’m pretty sure that thinking about ‘what ifs’ isn’t a good sign.”

         “I think I know which ‘what if’ you’re referring to-”

         “Is it _that_ obvious?”

         “To those that know you, absolutely. To those that don’t? Absolutely.”

         “Fuck, Tooru.”

         “It’s natural to start thinking about a lot of possibilities when you’re preparing to make a lifelong commitment, but if you’re doubting really heavily, it’s with good reason. Marry the kind of man you would be proud to call a son. Okay, well, that sounds really incestuous and gross, but do you know what I mean?”

         “Yeah, I think I do. Daddy kinks save relationships.” Issei said, pressing his lips together to stifle a laugh.

         “ _Issei._ ” Tooru choked down a giggle.

         “I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist.”

         “I know. I should have known better. But, you know I will always support you in whatever you do, but for once in your life, think of yourself. Don’t think about what I’ll say, what the others will say, or what anyone else will say. Compromise is incredibly important in a relationship, but if you’re the only one giving, that’s not fair. I know I am biased, obviously, because you are very important to me, but all I want is your happiness. Just think about who makes you smile more when you think about them? Who supports you more in the things that matter to you? Who do you see by your side in the long run?”

         Matsu sighed profoundly, the dull ache in the sides of his head creeping up in intensity. He swallowed around a lump in his throat. “I read some stupid article the other day about this and I thought- I thought I’d be torn by all the answers, or unable to decide, but I chose my best friend over my fiancé _every. single. time._ I thought it was just because it’s the fact that Ichiro and I live together and we have more opportunities to rub each other the wrong way, but it’s not. Takahiro and I lived together, but we resolved our issues, and I actually _wanted_ to resolve them. I looked forward to him coming home so we could hang out or just sit by each other in silence. I realized the other day that I am disappointed whenever Ichiro comes home because I have to pretend to be someone else. I can’t say what I want because he thinks I’m inappropriate. I can’t do what I want because I worry he won’t like it. I don’t recognize myself when I’m around him. And then you three came to visit and it was like I was finally allowed to _breathe_.” Matsu took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice, but it continued to waver. “This isn’t want I want. This isn’t the life I want. It hasn’t been. The past few years have been awful and I just kept lying to myself because he convinced me _I_ wasn’t trying hard enough. How did I get here, Tooru? How the fuck did I get here?”

          “Don’t get mad at yourself, Issei. You want to make people happy, and you’ve always been like that.”

          “What do I do?” Matsu’s voice broke and he scrubbed at his eyes with his hand. It was embarrassing enough that he was already openly admitting he was, in fact, in love with Takahiro, but he was about to start crying on the phone.

          “I can’t tell you that. It’s your decision. I wish I could help, but-” Tooru sounded choked up on the other end, which just made it harder for Issei to calm down.

          “No, you have. Thanks for listening to me cry and whine at you. I’m sorry. I also feel so bad for not telling Takahiro anything because he’s my best friend and I shouldn’t be lying to him. He’s never lied to me about anything.”

          “You both hide things from each other so you won’t worry. I guarantee you he’s not mad about that.”

          “I guess.”

          “Are you going to be okay?”

          “Probably. Yeah. Thanks. I should go.”

          “I’m here if you need me. We all are.”

          “I think I’m going to go call my mom. I haven’t talked to her in ages.”

          “She’d like that, I’m sure. Your mom is a little scary when she’s mad~”

          “A little. Okay, a lot. Thanks again, Tooru.”

          “Of course. Take care, alright?”

          “You too.” Matsu logged onto his computer and searched for the cheapest flight available.

 

 

 

         “-how can you do this to me? You’ll never find anyone that’ll love you like I do!”

         “I really hope not. I’m done suffering for the sake of your happiness, Ichiro.”

         “It was your friends again, wasn’t it? They’ve been trying to turn you against me since the start. I thought you were stronger than that, strong enough to go against what other people tell you to, but I guess not.” Ichiro hissed, advancing on Issei.

         “I guess not, then.” Issei said coolly, walking out with his suitcase and carrier in hand. He let the door shut behind him and began the long, tear-filled journey home.

 

 

 

           Several timid knocks echoed down the hall to Makki’s room, and he cursed the stars above for having some drunken asshole try to gain entry to the wrong apartment at that unholy hour. He didn’t know what it was about springtime, but it felt like everyone always went a little crazy. Takahiro rolled over, burying his head in his pillow. More knocks came, more forcefully this time.

         “What have I done to deserve this?” He muttered darkly, throwing a pair of pyjama pants over his underwear in the event of an actual, worthwhile visitor. Not thinking, he threw open the door, murderous glare in place. He blinked several times in shock, waiting for his brain to catch up with his eyes.

         “No, it’s me. You’re not asleep, ‘Hiro.”

         “Fuck. It’s not even a real hour! What the hell are you doing here, waking me up at an entirely unacceptabl-” Makki melted into the hug, squeezing to make sure the person in his arms was _real_. “What are you doing here?” He pulled back, grasping Matsu’s biceps and slowly guiding him into the apartment.

         “I left. I’m done. I’m just done being miserable, you know? I gave him back his-” Matsu took a great shuddering breath, “-ring, and I told him it was over. Which it is. And I’m home.”

         “For good?”

         “Yeah, I’m just sorry it took me so long to wake up.” Makki took Matsu’s face in his hands, tenderly stroking along his cheekbones. 

         “I’m just glad you did.”

         “I’m an idiot. I let this go on for _years_ and then I went _back_ -fuck.”

         “It’s okay. It doesn’t matter, alright? There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re staying here. You can move back in and we’ll have our sweet bachelor pad back, okay?”

         “It’s a one bedroom, you idiot.”

         “Whatever, we’ll be creative. Come on, you must be exhausted. Issei, did you just meow?” 

         “Uh. Well, I have small, furry baggage.”

         “Is that- oh my _God_.” Makki reached in, gently pulling out the disgruntled cat. She glared, and Makki fell more in love.

         “I’ve brought The Wig.”

         “Ah look, she hasn’t tried to flee or attack me.”

         “Yeah,” Matsu was suddenly embarrassed, though he couldn’t quite figure out why. Makki cradled her to his chest. “Did I ever tell you the she reminds me of you?”

         “Oh. I’m not sure if that’s a compliment.”

         “She’s an asshole, but somehow manages to be cute despite it.” Matsukawa paused to let the words sink in. Hanamaki pursed his lips, his eyebrows sinking into horizontal lines.

          “You’re sleeping on the bathroom floor.”

          “Anything’s better than what I had before.” Makki frowned a little, but at least Matsu was feeling spirited enough to make self-deprecating jokes. The Wig squirmed, demanding to be released. Makki indulged her.

          “I’ll give you a pillow.”

          “Ah, what generosity.” They gazed at each other for a moment, Wiggles-sama winding her way around their ankles. Takahiro looked away first, rubbing the back of his neck.

          “You can take my bed. It’s pre-warmed and everything, though I make no guarantees about cleanliness.”

          “Ew.” Issei raised a tired eyebrow.

          “Not _that_ kind, you pervert.”

          “It’s okay, I’ll take the futon or couch or whatever.” He waved Takahiro off and made to walk into the living room. Takahiro stopped him with a hand on his chest.

          “You absolutely won’t.”

          “Yes.”

          “No.”

          “I’ll take your bed on one condition.”

          “No sexual favours. It’s too early.” Makki yawned almost on cue to emphasize his point.

          “Taking all the fun out of my life, honestly.”

          “I live to ruin lives, Issei. Go to bed.”

          “Come with me?”

          “Huh?”

          “Stay with me tonight?”

          “Oh. Yeah, of course.” Hanamaki’s heart stuttered. The irregular beats made it feel like it was about to screech to a complete halt. If only this moment could’ve happened under better circumstances.

         Issei turned his phone off completely and dragged his luggage into a less inconvenient location than the doorway of the apartment. He followed Takahiro into the bedroom and crawled under the, as-promised, still warm covers after toeing his shoes off. It was strange being in the same bed with Takahiro now, now that Issei had realized that all those confusing feelings that had lurked beneath the surface really weren’t confusing at all. He had been in love with the half-asleep menace to society in front of him for as long as he’d been aware of his existence, it seemed; it had just taken him a really long time to actually come to terms with it. The corners of his mouth were faintly upturned, his blinks slower and longer as Matsu stared.

         “What’re you looking at?” Makki slurred, voice thick with exhaustion.

         “Ah, nothing.” Matsu laughed when Makki slapped a hand on his face and implored him to sleep. Their furry charge leapt up onto the bed and head-butted Issei’s chin, curling up there and purring.

          When Makki started snoring, Matsu rolled over, much to his cat’s irritation, and welcomed the dawn drowning in guilt. Once daylight broke, Issei finally began dozing off, Takahiro’s arm slung across his chest. Before he succumbed to sleep, his traitorous cat curled up on Makki’s back, claiming the space and the person.

         

 

 

             Knowing from experience what angle the sunlight made with the blinds at eleven in the morning, Hanamaki groaned. He had wasted a perfectly good morning of work by sleeping in too late. He should have been writing his damn thesis, but his bed was warmer and comfier than usual. Blinking quickly to clear the sleep from his eyes, he grasped around to grab his duvet and fling it off himself. In the process, something yowled in a very irritated way. Shocked by the sudden sound, he shifted abruptly only to find Matsukawa’s sleeping face on the pillow next to him. The whole scene, which he had assumed had been in a dream, hit him like a ton of bricks and he fell off the bed, flailing. The resounding thud of his body colliding with the floor was loud enough to wake the other occupant of the mattress. Issei pulled himself to the edge of the bed to peek over at the source of the sound. Takahiro’s grey eyes were the first things he saw, immediately followed by a deep scowl.

            “I’ve heard it’s more comfortable to go straight to a standing position from the bed and skip the whole falling part.” Matsukawa yawned in the middle of a word, but his sleepy smirk didn’t quit.

            “Your terrifying face scared me out of bed.” The scowl gave way to a radiant smile that Takahiro had failed to fight down. Issei threw a pillow down to him and rolled back over.

            “Yeah, yeah, I love you too.” The Wig sauntered over and curled up around Takahiro’s head.

            “Your cat has claimed me.”

            “Good, you can feed her.”

            “If I feed her, she’s going to think I’m her dad. I’m not sure I’m ready for children.”

            “I’m her dad. You get to be mom.”

            “Why am I mom?”

            “You’re mom.” Matsu sunk his face, and smile, into the pillows.

            Makki groaned, his bones crunching as he got to his feet. “Where’s her food?” Matsu lifted a heavy arm and pointed in the general direction of the living room.

            “Nnngh.”

            “Thanks.” Hanamaki paused. “When did you go to bed?”

            “Sunrise.”

            “ _Issei_.”

            “I couldn’t sleep.”

            “Sleep now. Did you call your parents?”

            “Mmhmm.”

            “Wanna go see ‘em this weekend?”

            “Mmhmm.”

            “Okay, I’ll come with.”

            “Don’t have to.”

            “I want to.”

            “Mmkay.”

            “Sleep.”

           “Mmkay.” And Matsukawa was out cold in seconds. Hanamaki called in to the lab to see how many days he could have off, and his supervisor laughed, telling him to take as many as he needed. Spluttering, Makki tried to explain why he was requesting the time, but his supervisor reminded him that his only job now was to finish his thesis.

 

            “Hajime.”

            “Are you dying? Why did you call me?”

            “I don’t call you _that_ rarely.”

            “You do.”

            “Whatever. Um, so I had a surprise visitor last night.”

            “I don’t really need to know about your nighttime exploits.”

            “It was Issei.”

            “What?!”

            “He’s here. They actually broke up. I hope.”

            “Holy shit, have you called Tooru?”

            “No, I was going to.”

            “Where is he now?”

            “Sleeping. I think we’re going home this weekend. He could use a distraction.”

            “I’ll call Tooru to see if he can take a few days off during spring training. We might join you. Has he spoken to his parents?”

            “Yeah, he has.”

            “Okay.”

            “Yeah.”

            “Shit. Does he look okay?”

            “He’s a lot calmer than he was last time, to be honest. It worries me.”

            “Hm. Keep an eye on him.”

            “Who the fuck do you think I am?”

            “Okay, okay. I’ll go call Hanger-san and see about this weekend.”

            “I’m going to go find coffee.”

            “You do that. Bye.”

            “Bye.” Wiggles-sama purred softly by Makki’s side, subtly reminding him that he had forgotten something crucial. “Oh, you need feeding. Okay, hold on. You should also probably have a litter box. I’ll get you one after I have coffee.” She meowed. “That work for you?”

 

              When Matsu woke that afternoon, he found a sandwich covered in plastic wrap on the counter, and Makki and his cat asleep on the couch. She had taken to Hanamaki like a fish to water when they had first met, and she apparently only liked him more with time. She had her her head tucked underneath his chin as they dozed quietly. Whatever regret he had felt upon waking had faded, and he walked over to join the two with a bounce in his step. Makki stirred awake when he felt the weight shift on the couch and reflexively put his arm out to steady the cat. The Wig stretched, irate at the sudden change in her human bed’s position, and walked down Makki’s stomach into Matsu’s lap.

              “You’re awake.” Makki said dumbly.

              “Yeah, and so are you.”

              Takahiro covered his face and chuckled. “Jesus Christ, why do I even keep you around?”

              “Charm, a nice ass?”

              “All of the above, yes.” Makki let his arms drop back to his sides as he sat up. “Did you eat?”

              “Not yet. You two were too cute.”

              “I’m not cute.”

              “You’re cute.”

              “No, I’m handsome.” Makki corrected.

              “Nah, cute.”

              “Suck my dick, Issei.”

              “Was that a command or an insult?”

              Makki turned beet red and made his way into the kitchen. “Come eat your sandwich. I’m gonna get some more coffee.” Matsu laughed the whole way.

 

 

 

             The next couple of days were strangely uneventful. Matsukawa felt like he had gone back in time a few years, falling back into a comfortable routine like nothing had changed. He had blocked Ichiro’s number and told him not to follow, and for the time being, it seemed like everything was going smoothly for him. The only thing that had actively been bothering Matsu was the fact that the sexual tension between him and Makki was nearly palpable. They had always been very physical and open with their affection, but now every touch felt like fire and every look they shared was too intense. Part of it was likely due to the fact that Ichiro was always physically distant and had withheld sex for the better part of the last year, but Issei’s sexual attraction to Takahiro seemed to be magnified now that he was actually _single._ His anxiety played havoc with his feelings, making him feel guilt for the attraction, for how quickly he was ready to move on, and he found himself at an impasse.

            The trip to Miyagi came at a good time, serving to break his mental stalemate with the distraction of familiar territory and the sweet smells of home. Hanamaki went down to Miyagi with him for the weekend, and though they spent a majority of time with their respective parents, they spent a long Friday and Saturday evening together playing pepper in Matsu’s backyard. Hanamaki, before leaving that Monday, convinced Matsukawa to stay at his parents’ for a week or two to re-anchor himself and spend some time around family. The senior Matsukawas looked delighted at Hanamaki’s suggestion.

             Matsukawa’s mother doted on him from the moment she came home from work until she left again, feeding him regardless of whether he was hungry or not. She never took no for an answer, and by the end of the second week, he was managing to eat something resembling multiple meals a day. She smacked him upside the head if he forgot to eat breakfast, then shooed him outside to go for a run.

 

**_My mother is a slave driver._ **

_i think we all know this_

_she tells me youve been eating_

_good_

_she gives you the kick in the ass that i cant_

**_You’re all terrible people._ **

**_Did you teach her to text while I was in Australia?_ **

_yep_

_youre welcome_

**_She uses SO. MANY. EMOJIS._ **

_again_

_youre welcome_

**_…she was worried enough to start calling you, wasn’t she?_ **

_yeah._

_but its okay_

_youre here now_

_and were all so happy youre back_

**_Gross._ **

_…_

_youre stupid_

_whenre you back_

**_I think I’m gonna catch the train back tomorrow afternoon._ **

_what time_

**_Not telling you. You’ll come pick me up._ **

_no i wont_

_im not wasting my time on you_

**_You’re just curious about what moment the train will pull up to the station._ **

_yes_

_it fascinates me_

_now go on your run before your mom comes after me too_

_and tell me when your damn train arrives_

_so i can absolutely not come get you_

             He spent a lot of time talking to his dad about his accounting, about the car he was thinking of upgrading to, about current events. They caught up on years of mundane conversations and easy company. His mother let Issei air out all of his dirty laundry and his emotions, helping him to face forward and stop looking behind him. She kept him on a schedule and gave him tasks to complete during the day, which both irritated him to no end because he wanted to intermittently watch movies and write, but he knew the list would keep his mind busy. Issei almost felt overwhelmed by how much his parents and friends loved and cared about him; he couldn’t fathom what he had ever done to deserve it.

 

             His parents gave him long hugs goodbye at the station, imploring him to visit more often.

             “Next time you come, bring Takahiro for longer.” Issei’s diminutive mom gestured for him to bend down for her to wipe a smudge of ink from his cheek.

             “He had to go write his thesis, otherwise he would have stayed. You know that.”

             “He’s good for you.” She said, crossing her arms across her chest.

             “I know, he’s been a good fri-” Issei tried to play it off casually, knowing exactly what his mom meant by that statement.

             “No, he’s good for you. You light up around him.”

             “Um?”

             “You know what your mother means.” His dad stated simply.

            “Oh my god.” Issei’s face bloomed pink. “I’m mortified."

            “Go catch your train, Issei. We love you.” He waved, walking away briskly. Matsu was confident there was nothing more embarrassing than having your parents awkwardly suggest you should date your best friend. As it happened, yes, he was very interested in dating his best friend, but having his _father_ , no less, support his mother’s casual meddling – well. That was a whole other category of humiliating.

            Issei planned to sleep on the train home and show up refreshed and perky. What happened instead was that he spent the two and a half hour ride thinking intensely about all the reasons he had to not try a relationship. He knew well that he was emotionally damaged, anxious, potentially depressed and suffering from cripplingly low self-esteem. He was also aware of the fact that he was probably going to stay in Hanamaki’s apartment for the foreseeable future, at Hanamaki’s insistence, and that they would likely share a bed and flirt even more shamelessly.

            After an hour, he came to the conclusion that he should suggest that they start things slowly when he got back, knowing full well Takahiro would be more than careful and slow with him regardless.

            Into the second hour, he changed his mind and decided to not bring anything up lest he make it seem like some sort of desperate rebound and validation-seeking effort.

            Five minutes before the train arrived, he received a reply that made him grin. That was all that he needed to spur him forward.

            By the time the train doors opened, Issei was sweating. He was sweating and nervous and not really sure about anything except for the fact that seeing Takahiro standing there with his hands in his jeans pockets made him happier than he could ever imagine. Takahiro’s smile dawned beautifully on his face when he spotted his favourite person, and he gave an awkward wave like Issei hadn’t already started making his way over to him.

           “Welcome home.”

           “Thanks. Even though I really needed that trip, I’m ready to get back to real life and job hunting. And not having my mom tell me what to do all day.”

           “Aww, baby.”

           “Shut up, you know my mom.”

           “I do, and that is why I mock. Here, lemme grab one of your bags. Jesus, did she send you back with a whole other duffel filled with food?” Makki pretended to sag under the weight as the walked away from the crowd of people.

           “At least half of that is food for you. She insists I don’t get any. I think she made you cream puffs.” Hanamaki’s eyes were wide as saucers, hands diving for the zipper of the bag. Matsukawa smacked them away. “Wait until we get home, you animal.”

           “No! Nownownownow, I want theeeeem.” Hanamaki whined, chasing after Matsukawa and the bag. “You don’t even know where I parked!”

           “It’s not like I don’t know what your car looks like and what your license plate is.”

           “Touché. Gimmegimmegimme, fuck, come on!”

           The whining and begging continued all the way through the neighbouring streets while Matsu searched for the car. Makki refused to tell him where he had parked until Matsu pulled out a single cream puff to placate him, devouring it like he hadn’t eaten in years.

           “You’re ridiculous.” Matsukawa shook his head, grinning, as Hanamaki looked up at him, cream smeared all over his mouth.

           “I’m an adult.” Makki licked his fingers, and stuck his tongue out to reach for the rest of the custard.

           “You eat like a toddler, though.” Matsu couldn’t stop looking at the oblivious Makki, who was fixated on trying to rescue as much of the wayward treat from his face as possible. His heart started beating frantically and his breath became shallow as he considered how to frame his thoughts. There were no words that could adequately express how he should proceed and how he should casually suggest a relationship, but he needed to say something. Hanamaki looked up while Matsukawa was attempting to hew together some inadequate words into something meaningful. He smiled gently.

         “Like I said, you don’t appreciate the sweet things in life, you giant heathen.” Before Matsukawa had a moment to reply or say a single one of the words he wanted, Hanamaki had cupped his cheek, pulling him down into a slow and sweet kiss. He could feel Makki’s heart beating equally quickly against his chest, his lips soft and movements even more so. A small voice in the back of his head tried to remind him that they were in public, that they were two men kissing in public, but the rest of him decided to drop his duffel bags to the ground and pull Takahiro closer. Takahiro held onto his face like he was afraid this wasn’t going to last, pushing insistently against Issei's lips, then gasping when he pulled away to breathe.

          “Holy shit. How did you know I was gonna-”

          “You were looking at me like you were thinking about it.” Hanamaki’s face and neck were faintly pink, and he licked his lips nervously.

          “Oh.” Matsukawa was still breathing hard, hands resting on Hanamaki’s waist.

          “You also looked like you were maybe thinking better of it, and I didn’t like that option as much.” They rested their foreheads against each other, chuckling and elated.

          “I love you. I’m a mess, like, a huge fucking mess, and this is going to be really fucking hard for a while but I love you and I’ve wanted this for way longer than I should have considering I was in a relationship. I can’t promise I won’t have shit anxious and depressed days where I feel guilty and wrong – but I’ve missed you so much in every way and I want to be with you for as long as is humanly possible.”

          “Did you just suggest we spend our lives together?”

          “Fuck, I may have.”

          Takahiro laughed, resting his hand on Issei’s chest. “We really don’t have to rush into anything. I want you to get better, and I want to be there to help. You’ve got me, no matter what, okay? We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. I’ll be here.”

          “Okay. I just really wanted to kiss you. I mean, all the other stuff too, obviously, but man.”

          “Well, I haven’t been going to the gym for nothing. Someone’s gotta appreciate all this hard work.” Hanamaki looked back up into Matsukawa’s dark eyes and smiled his way into a full squint before Matsukawa leaned down to press their lips together again.

          “You know, “ Takahiro began, speaking against Issei’s mouth, “We can actually continue this at home, right?”

          “A very good point.” Issei stated, curling his arms around Takahiro’s shoulders.

          “Come on, let’s go home.”

          “Yeah, you should really work on your thesis.”

          “Fuck.” Takahiro picked up the duffel bags and grumbled all the way to the car.

           After Issei had fallen asleep on his side of the bed, Takahiro had grabbed his phone to plug it in. The screen lit up with a message as he picked it up. He made a frustrated sound that turned into a laugh, and shook his head.

          “You have to be fucking kidding me, I swear to god.” Takahiro muttered quietly to himself, though he wasn’t surprised.

 

**Fumiko Nee-san**

_have you kissed my stupid little brother yet?_

**Fumiko Nee-san**

_he’s dense and doesn’t understand hints._

       

          Makki decided to deal with his traitorous sister in the morning and nestled in against Matsu instead, closing his eyes when Matsu’s arm slid around his waist and pulled him closer. Angry about being left behind, Wiggles-sama snuggled in between them, pushing her tail into Makki’s face and making him sneeze.

          “Why are you such an adorable asshole?” He hissed at the cat. Matsu opened one eye.

          “I should be asking you the same thing.”

          “Sleep. Tomorrow, you and I are going to have some words about you and nee-chan gossiping about me.”

          Matsu chuckled sleepily. “She texted me on my train ride back when I was trying to decide whether to just,” He yawned, “take the bull by the horns and just tell you how I feel.” 

          “So you told her about this.”

          “Yeeeeup.”

          “You two are awful. Besides, I kissed you first, you nervous wreck.”

          “Mmmhm.”

          “You’re not gonna lie and say you did it, are you?”

          “Go sleep.”

          “I _cannot_ believe you would betray-” Mid-sentence, to save his own ass, Matsukawa curled his fingers around Hanamaki’s neck and kissed him hard. “I’m still mad.” Makki said breathlessly. Matsu let his eyes close again, though he was still smirking.

          “Mmmhm.”

          “Really mad.”

          “Okay.”

          “You don’t believe me, do you?”

          “Nope.”

          “I _am_ mad.”

          “Uh-huh.”

          “Can I have another?”

          A lopsided grin was all the answer Hanamaki got.


	12. and so it goes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tbh, ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) is an accurate summary of most of this chapter, y'all. 
> 
> Thank you so much for your patience as I struggled to get through this...and now all that's left is an epilogue??? CAN YOU BELIEVE
> 
> Seriously, thanks to everyone who commented - they mean the world to me even though I am garbage at getting back to y'all. It'll happen eventually, I promise.

                    Despite the fact that Issei had grown distant from Ichiro well before he had actually left, there were still moments in which his mind was particularly brutal to him, moments where he’d remember all the things he did wrong and how Ichiro had stayed with him despite it all. Issei never had any warning before these emotions hit, unfortunately; he would be performing a mundane daily task and then would suddenly find himself catatonic. Some mornings, he couldn’t get himself out from under the covers, and Hanamaki would bring his laptop to bed and work on his thesis where Issei could curl around him and work through his thoughts. Even though it was difficult at times, Matsukawa knew it would get better, slowly, reassured by careful fingers running through his hair, or a tight squeeze of his shoulders. Hanamaki was patient, and careful, more so than Matsukawa believed he deserved.

                    Hanamaki’s warmth, both physical and emotional, was more than Matsukawa could handle some days. This day in particular, he found himself leaving the house just so Takahiro wouldn’t have any excuses to dote on him. Issei flipped up the collar of his jacket to brace against the wind, burrowing his hands into his jean pockets. It was a brisk late spring day, but the wind was sharp as a whip and made the otherwise pleasant temperature outside into something unbearable. Issei walked for hours, no real goal or destination in mind, just a need to be alone, to not be cared for.

                    His legs were jelly by the late afternoon, so he ducked into a café to grab some tea and a snack, having completely forgotten to eat for the third time in as many days. He sat by the window, his chin in his hand, and stared out at the city beyond. The café was warm and cozy, and somehow even that bothered him. Just when Issei felt like he was recovering and working on his self-worth, he found himself tangled in moments like this. Moments in which his eyes watered at the thought of how much time he had wasted under Ichiro’s thumb and how pathetic he had been for letting himself be treated like that for years. How pathetic he still was. His sadness had begun turning to anger, though it was only directed at himself. In that uncanny way of his, Takahiro texted Issei right when his thoughts were taking a darker turn.

 

_wanna to go out for some greasy af cheeseburgers tonight_

_ive hit my writing quota_

_and sort of want to die_

**_Yeah, I’ll be back in a bit._ **

_you okay_

_you left in a rush this morning_

**_I’ll be okay, don’t worry. I’m coming home._ **

_okay_

_see you soon_

                     Issei crossed the threshold of the apartment, physically and emotionally exhausted from his walk and mental gymnastics. His shoulders were curled forward, and he felt like leaden limbs were weighing him down. Takahiro looked up from a printed article, yanking off his glasses and trying to not jump up and run over to Issei. Hanamaki saw how much Matsukawa suffered some days, but he knew that crowding him emotionally would make him feel undeserving and pathetic. Issei had candidly mentioned as much after a night out drinking a few weeks previous.

                    Hanamaki tried his best to read psychology articles when he could to figure out how best to approach the situation, but he found theory very rarely held up to real life. He found it agonizing to watch Matsukawa on days where he looked like he was collapsing in on himself, to hold him when it seemed like he couldn’t stand on his own. Knowing that he couldn’t instantly make him better hurt most of all.

                    “Hey handsome,” Issei greeted tiredly, mustering up a smile because that’s what Takahiro deserved. He was always glad to come home and see Takahiro’s lazy grin, no matter how difficult his day had been; he just wished he could always _look_ as happy as Takahiro seemed to be.

                    “Hey,” _are you sure you’re okay?_ is what Hanamaki wanted to ask, but he halted the thought. “Do you still want to get dinner?”

                    “I want to, but can I take a nap first? I’m really exhausted.”

                    “Yeah, sure. We don’t have to go tonight. I’ll make something for later and I’ll take your bony ass out for a burger tomorrow, okay?” Hanamaki walked over to Matsukawa and rubbed the small of his back.

                    “Deal. Man, I wish I weren’t this fucking tired all the time. I’m sorry you have to deal with this shit, ‘Hiro. I really am.”

                    “Don’t be an idiot. I’m not dealing with shit. I’m living with you and sometimes we both have awful days. You forget you live with an asshole.”

                    “I do sometimes.”

                    “You’re not supposed to agree.”

                    “Oops.” Matsu chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Makki reached out, running a hand through Matsu’s windblown curls, smiling softly when he leaned into the touch and sighed.

                    “You’re the worst. Just for that, I’m going to come nap with you.”

                    “Wow, how terrible. I am so disappointed,” Matsu said robotically, nuzzling Makki’s cheek and wrapping his arms around his shoulders.

                    “You should be. I am going to nap with you all afternoon, and you’ll have to deal with my coldass feet.”

                    “You’ve always been a romantic, what can I say?”

                    Later, Takahiro ran his fingers through Issei’s hair until he dozed off with his head pillowed on Takahiro’s chest. The apartment’s resident furball leapt up onto Hanamaki’s stomach shortly after and he made a quiet ‘oof’ noise of disapproval on impact. She merely nestled into his t-shirt and purred contentedly.

                   “Asshole,” Makki whispered. She purred louder out of spite. Makki freed one hand so that he was petting both Matsu and Wiggles-sama, smiling as he too let sleep take him.

                   When Hanamaki next woke, the sun was creeping above the horizon, chasing away the inky black and purple from the sky. The clock read just before six, as always, so he began stretching in preparation to get up. Normally, Issei wasn’t much of a cuddler during the night, complaining Takahiro was too warm, but this morning, he was nestled right up against Takahiro’s side and snoring. Hanamaki had quickly learned that Matsukawa’s snoring meant he had slept, or was in the process of sleeping well, so he smiled drowsily and curled into the warmth. He could nap for a little while longer.

 

 

 

 

 

                  Hanamaki and Matsukawa had sleep schedules that were nearly opposite at times, so when Hanamaki jolted awake, heart thundering, at three am one morning, Matsukawa hadn’t yet gone to bed. He jumped where he sat, startled by Makki’s abrupt motion, though his features contorted into a grimace of worry once the initial fear had passed.

                  “What are you doing awake?” Makki asked, pushing himself into a sitting position. Matsu put down his pen and notebook, and closed his laptop with a sigh.

                 “Writing, or something like it.”

                 “You still have that book?” Takahiro gestured to the worn leather, his eyes shining with a quiet sort of joy.

                 “Yeah, of course I do. You gave it to me. Aaand I’ve been using it to write notes for the novel I’m writing.” Makki scooted over so he could lean on Matsu, who rested a comforting arm around his shoulders.

                 “Is it possible to pre-order copies of this great work?”

                 Matsukawa snorted. “It’s hardly a great work, and I doubt it will be, but I _can_ print out a copy for you using your dilapidated printer.”

                 “Hell no! Do you know what ink costs? I’ll print it at my lab. _Our_ printer is just for show.” Makki cautiously snuck his hand across Matsu’s stomach, curling around his body. Stress about his thesis had been keeping him awake and jittery for weeks, never abating or letting him rest. He was almost done writing the horrid thing, but then he would have a defense to worry about in addition to trying to decide on a job. The mere thought of the future sent his heart racing again.

                 “You can talk to me, you know. You forget that.” Matsukawa pressed his lips to the top of Hanamaki’s head, then rested his cheek there.

                 “I’m okay. I just have a lot of trouble sleeping.”

                 “It’s probably the stress. That, and you drink enough coffee for twelve people.”

                 “It’s not my fault it tastes good!”

                 “Despite your best efforts to ruin instant coffee, you haven’t succeeded. So no, it’s not your fault.”

                 “I hate you.”

                 “I hate you too.”

                 “Go sleep,” Makki commanded with all the authority of a disgruntled rabbit.

                 “I will. You should too.” Hanamaki made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat. Matsukawa brought his hands up to Hanamaki’s hair and began massaging his scalp.

                 “That might help.”

                 “I hope so.” Makki’s eyes fluttered closed, the sensation of Matsu’s strong fingers on his head making goose bumps rise along his arms and back. His limbs grew heavier and heavier, and though his worries still floated in the periphery of his mind, they seemed less significant.

                 “’Sei,” he mumbled, semi-coherently.

                 “Yes?”

                 “Lovyou.”

                 “I know.”

                 “’sshole.”

                 “You romance me so.” Matsukawa’s chuckle reverberated through Makki’s body and he smiled, letting sleep slowly pull him under. Wiggles-sama leapt onto Matsu’s legs a moment after, jarring Hanamaki awake with a rumbling purr.

                 “No. Mine.” Makki swatted at her drowsily, possessively claiming more of Matsu before she had the opportunity to.

                 “Hiro, you’re fighting a cat.”

                 “She…steal you. No. Bad cat.” Wiggles-sama’s tail, by chance, found its way to Makki’s face. “Nooooo.” Matsukawa stilled his body so he wouldn’t disturb Makki any further, but his laughter could not be contained. The very same gorgeous, perfect person he had gazed at longingly on a beach in Australia a few months ago was now half-drooling on his chest and swinging wildly at a cat that refused to stop taunting him. Matsu didn’t know what was funnier: the fact that his cat was baiting his Makki or that Makki was successfully being baited. He smiled fondly when both parties involved passed out on him, turning off the lamp before calling it a night.

 

 

 

 

                  Makki dropped two, meter-long cardboard cylinders on top of the novel Matsu was only casually reading. He waited for a response; his hands were perched on his hips, lips pursed.

                  "What are these?" Issei picked up one of the tubes, quickly slipping a bookmark into his novel in anticipation of several hours of distracting, cardboard tube-related activities.

                  "I believe they are called 'cardboard tubes.'"

                  "I should have known. How apt." When Matsu had finished assessing the heft of the household object, he looked up to see Makki sporting the cheesiest of grins.

                  "I bought paint. We can make lightsabers."

                  "Holy shit, you're a genius."

                  "I know. It isn't easy being this amazing." Takahiro mimed tossing long hair over his shoulders, and then disappeared to rummage through his backpack for craft supplies.

                  Once their weapons were painted appropriately, they both donned sweaters with the hoods pulled up and posed in anticipation of the greatest battle of their lives. The two spent the better part of the afternoon chasing each other around the apartment, dodging wild swings and giggling at the dull thunk of colliding tubes.

 

 

 

                  “Why wasn’t anything I did ever good enough?” Issei asked, seemingly out of nowhere. Takahiro’s eyes widened as he turned.

                  “That’s your asshole ex talking. You were more than enough. You’ve always been more than enough. You’re everything, alright? The only person on this Earth that thought you were anything less happens to be a bona fide piece of human garbage that doesn’t deserve to lick your shoes, let alone be with you. Hell, I don’t deserve to be with you, but at least I recognize what I have.” Hanamaki ground his jaw together, pissed off at how much damage Ichiro had done. He lifted a hand to Matsukawa’s face and ran a thumb along his jaw.

                  “You don’t have to say that to make me feel better.” Matsukawa turned his head and body, reaching for the fridge door.

                  Hanamaki shifted to lean in front of Matsukawa. “I’m saying it because it’s the truth.”

                  “’Hiro.”

                  “Don’t make me start writing you poetry.”

                  “Oh god, please don’t. I remember that awful thing you wrote for your Japanese class in your undergrad.”

                  “Excuse you. That was art. With a capital A.”

                  “Yes. Likening something to the colour of a worm is really poetic,” droned Matsukawa.

                  “It is if you’re a worm.”

                  “Somehow, I think there’s very little money to be made in worm poetry.”

                  “Not with that attitude, there isn’t.” Takahiro rolled his eyes, embracing a now-smiling Issei and tightening his arms around him protectively.

                  “I would love your worm poetry,” Issei mumbled, shrinking so he could be completely enveloped by Takahiro.

                  “That makes me worry about your career as a novelist.”

                  “Maybe I’ll write a worm romance.”

                  “That would be truly inspiring. It’s such a niche genre that _nobody_ has ever thought to write for it.”

                  “I’ll be a pioneer.”

                  “You will be. You’ll be the best worm-centered author in the world.”

                  “At least I’ll be the best at something.”

                  “You’ll be the best author, period. You just may have to leave the worm genre behind to get paid for it.”

                  “That’s a good point. Hey, ‘Hiro?”

                  “Hm?”

                  “Would you want to read the draft I’ve got so far?” asked Issei nervously.

                  “Hell yes! Under one condition.”

                  “Uh?”

                  “I get to write you worm poetry.” Hanamaki stepped back, kissing Matsukawa on the cheek.

                  “Of course. I hope they’ll be illustrated poems.”

                  “Naturally. Please. I am an _artiste_.”

 

 

 

                  Issei knew. Takahiro tried his best to make it casual, but Issei knew him inside and out. Issei _knew_ Takahiro was stomping on the brakes to make sure they weren’t rushing into anything, emotionally or physically, and though Issei thought it was incredibly sweet of him, he was _thirsty_. His libido had all but disappeared while he was still with Ichiro, likely as a product of both their disastrous relationship and his amplified mental health issues. Now that he felt more comfortable and secure, it had returned, and _how._ He woke up in the middle of the night sometimes, Takahiro’s unfairly, disgustingly cut, naked torso pressed into his, and he would nearly pass out from the sudden blood rush to his dick. He wanted. Oh, how he wanted, but he wasn’t sure how to bring up that he was completely and utterly ready to get fucked stupid.

                 They had a comfortable level of communication, and had always had it, but this was still relatively new territory. Neither had actually broached the topic of them actually officially being together, but that almost didn’t need to happen. The two had fallen together so effortlessly that there really was nothing to talk about in the first place. The only thing that Issei really _wanted_ to happen was - _well._ Not that the making out and cuddling wasn’t wonderful, but he was ready.

                 As life had a tendency of doing, Issei’s decision to have the sex talk – birds and bees optional, though, knowing them, likely – came at the worst possible time. Over and over again. Every time Issei summoned his wits about him long enough, either he or Takahiro would get interrupted, and so the days ticked by.

 

 

 

                 Despite how much lighter Matsukawa had been feeling, the nagging worry about finding a job never quite left. He would sit down to apply for jobs, and the moment he was faced with a seemingly-endless form, the anxiety would bubble, roiling in his gut and crawling out to his extremities. Matsukawa knew he had to do something, but he felt paralyzed, frozen in place and unable to change anything while simultaneously feeling guilty about his inaction. It was a frustrating cycle he hadn’t yet figured out how to break, and it gnawed away at him daily.

 

 

 

 

                 Mid-run, Takahiro and Issei were stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. Sweat was running down their faces and necks, and their hair was plastered down messily. Hanamaki frowned, eyes narrowed at Matsukawa.

                “No, I am pushing myself for you because I know how much you care about me even though I’m useless most of the time. I know you want me to get better, and I do too. So, well, I mean, yeah, you motivate me to get out of bed,” Matsukawa panted between sentences, his chest heaving from the combined effort of talking and regulating his breathing.

                “I- Issei, I want you to do this for _you_. I want you to be selfish and carve out your own future and do what _you_ want for once. I want you to be able to feel proud of yourself. You’re worth so much and you need to see that again.”

                “That’s a work in progress, but I’m getting better, and a large part of that is you.”

                “That’s bullshit. You’re the strong one. I haven’t done shit, and you don’t have to placate me, okay?” Makki pleaded, resting his hands on his hips and looking up into Matsu’s eyes.

                “I don’t think you even know how much your support means to me, you idiot.” He flicked Takahiro’s forehead. Issei’s eyes lit up as the light changed, and he took off like a shot. Takahiro’s reflexes lagged but he sprinted after him, pushing his breathing into a rhythm despite how hard it was to breathe out when smiling so hugely. “I’m not doing this for you because I feel like you’ll resent me if I don’t. I’m trying to make myself into the best person I can because that is good for both of us, and I want you to be happy too. That means the most to me.”

                “I’m happy when you’re happy.”

                “ _You_ make me happy. I just, you know, sometimes the days are shit and I can’t be, but I try.” Makki grabbed Matsu’s wrist and came to a dead stop, yanking them both in towards each other. “What-” Makki kissed Matsu desperately in the middle of the path, hoping that he’d understand how much he meant to him. It was like a pot bubbling over, sometimes, how deeply Takahiro loved Issei and how he wanted to tell him every moment of every day.

                “You make me so much better. God, I love you so much,” Makki mumbled.

                “Are you crying?”

                “I’m sweating from my eyes, Jesus Christ.”

                “I love you too,” Matsu mouthed more than spoke against Makki’s lips as they embraced, sweaty and on an adrenaline high.

 

 

 

 

                Hi Matsu~

**_Hey! How’s our resident volleyball superstar?_ **

                Great! :D

**_Glad to hear it. Knee holding out alright?_ **

                Hasn’t bothered me in months! Our physio works wonders~

**_They don’t skimp on their players, that’s for sure._ **

**_By the way, you better come visit soon._ **

                We have a really busy schedule for the next little while (╥_╥)

                I might get to play soon, and then you can come watch!!!

**_No shit! You know we’ll be there._ **

**_With signs._ **

**_Hiro and I can hold up a ‘We’re Pregnant’ sign._ **

                Please no!

**_Please, yes?_ **

                Matsu…

**_Fine. Nothing written on the sign._ **

                Nothing inappropriate~

**_That pretty much rules out everything he and I wanted to do…_ **

                That is because you two are filthy-minded!

**_You’re not wrong._ **

                Oikawa-san knows!

**_Hanger-san knows the obvious, of course._ **

                Rude!

                Speaking of you two, how are things?

**_Great. Incredible? Why didn’t we just do this sooner?_ **

                You seem happy in your photos! I’m really glad~

**_My life’s getting better slowly. Now if I could only find a job…_ **

                You can do it!! We all believe in you <3

**_Gross._ **

**_I heard the exasperated sigh all the way from here._ **

                Good!!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

                 “I’m going to the gym with Hajime this morning. You wanna come?” Makki asked, his voice muffled by the compression shirt that had gotten caught on his nose. Matsu stared unabashedly at the shift of Makki’s muscles as he squirmed into the obscenely tight shirt.

                 Matsu yawned hugely. “Yeah, sure. Let me just-” He gestured loosely with his hand.

                 “By all means, please-“ Makki repeated the gesture, smirking, smug after finally having figured out his shirt.

                 “You’re a piece of shit.” At some point in their lives, neither was sure when, the phrase had become a term of endearment.

                 “Absolutely.” Makki only smirked more widely, though the expression disappeared clean off his face when Matsu reached out from the bed and latched onto his forearm. Issei yanked him down onto the bed and rolled on top of him, a cocky grin creeping up his face. He pinned Takahiro’s arms down and leaned in so their noses were all but touching.

                 “Rude,” he purred, chuckling when Takahiro arched up into the thigh between his legs and gasped.

                 “ _I’m_ rude? Please. Okay, listen, I don’t want to show up at the gym with a boner-”

                 “Want a blowjob, then?”

                 “Huh?” Makki’s voice rose several squeaky octaves.

                 “I repeat. Do you. Want. A blowjob. Before. We. Go?” Matsu raised an eyebrow, starting to crawl down Makki’s body, his gaze hooded and mischievous.

                 “Huh?” Hanamaki repeated, his eyes wide as saucers.

                 “Well, you see, a blow job-“ Matsu rucked up Makki’s shirt and kissed the skin below his navel, maintaining eye contact. “-is when I-“ He kissed lower, starting to tug at the elastic waistband of Makki’s athletic shorts. “Put my mouth-“

                 “Yes! Yes. Yes, I want a bj, holy shit, yes please.”

                 Matsu snorted. “Good, I really want to give you one. I’ll make it quick.”

                 “I will probably come before you even have all of me in your mouth.” Matsu snorted, yanking down Makki’s shorts and underwear to his knees.

                 “I sincerely doubt it.” He commented with the air of one talking about the weather. Makki inhaled sharply, propping himself up on an elbow so he could better watch his inevitable demise in real time.

                 “I’ve probably thought about this for a decade, so- _fuck-“_ Issei kitten licked the head of Takahiro’s dick, quirking up a corner of his mouth when Takahiro’s head fell back like a rag doll’s.

                “Before you start thinking too much,” Issei began, popping the head into his mouth and generously wetting it with his tongue before pulling off again, “I want you, okay? And I’m sure, now fucking relax and let me get you off.”

                “But Hajime-”

                “My name is Issei, in case you’ve forgotten, and here, text him.” Matsu loosely fisted a hand around Makki’s dick and stroked, thumbing at the precome while grabbing the phone for him.

 

_were gonna be a bit late_

**You better have a good excuse.**

                 Makki dropped the phone on his forehead when, without warning, Matsu’s mouth completely enveloped him. He yelped embarrassingly loudly. Matsu gestured at the phone, smirking as he bobbed slowly, massaging the underside of Makki’s dick with his tongue.

 

_cant brain_

_bj time_

**Well, fucking finally.**

**So you’re going to be 13 seconds late?**

                  “FUCK.” Makki hadn’t meant to yell, but the combined overload of sensations and indignation at Iwaizumi’s text got the better of him. Matsu chuckled when the phone tumbled to the ground with a loud thud, the vibrations of his voice humming along the length of Makki’s dick. “Again. Please, that. Again.” He was still filled with a righteous fire about Hajime’s jab until Issei dragged his lips slowly down his erection with a burning intensity in his eyes. Takahiro flopped back on the bed, moaning, his right thigh beginning to shake uncontrollably. Issei braced the heels of his hands against the firm muscle of Takahiro’s legs, pushing them apart with an authority that made Takahiro squirm. Whatever Matsukawa was doing with his mouth was criminal, and Hanamaki’s vision was already beginning to blur at the edges. His muscles were tensing slowly, his climb much too fast for his liking, his unraveling all but done in under a minute. He wasn’t a teenager anymore, but his body had conveniently forgotten that fact.

                  In the end, Hajime wasn’t that far off. When Issei and Takahiro appeared at the gym a scant five minutes late, Hajime bent over double with laughter.

                  “Fuck off, you piece of garbage,” Makki grumbled, brushing past him and into the cardio room.

                  “What did I miss?” asked Matsukawa, hands on his hips and his eyebrow cocked in confusion. Iwaizumi took out his phone and showed him the last few texts. They both burst out into childish giggles and somewhere in the corner of the gym, a middle finger shot up, hovering above a strawberry blonde head.

                  “I’m really surprised it’s taken you two this long to start fooling around,” Hajime mentioned as they began walking into the room, guided by the growing cloud of rage above one exercise bike in particular.

                  “I think he was holding out until I was ready, but I’ve been ready for awhile. I just don’t know why it was so awkward to bring it up with him. I guess we’re both kinda confused about how to approach it all.”

                  Iwaizumi frowned. “I can understand that. Did this morning break the seal?”

                 “I am going to ride him into the sunset soon.” Matsu grinned at Iwaizumi’s pained groan. “He just doesn’t know it yet.”

                 “You are going to be absolutely _revolting_ in no time at all.”

                 “Fucking right.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

                  When Issei woke, the left side of the bed was both empty and cold. He got to his feet slowly, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He pulled on a long-sleeved shirt to guard against the chill, brushed his teeth, and slowly padded over into the kitchen. Makki was sleepily stirring his second cup of coffee, so dazed that he didn’t hear Matsu walk in. He smiled into his coffee when Issei’s long arms curled around his waist and he felt the anchoring strength of Issei’s chest against his back.

                 “Hi,” Makki whispered into the undisturbed early morning silence.

                 Matsu took a deep breath by Makki’s neck then blew a raspberry.

                 “Jesus!” Takahiro spun around and flicked Issei’s nose.

                 “Nope, just me. One of these days, you’ll get it right, I hope.”

                 “I have no idea why I thought you’d be really romantic.”

                 “I have no idea either.” Issei leaned in, kissing Takahiro softly, slowly, pressing his palms down the side of his body until he had leverage enough to hoist him onto the counter. Makki groaned quietly into the kiss, edging closer to Matsu’s body where he was pressed up against the faux granite top.

                 “This is better.” The pace was leisurely, the kisses deep and thorough, neither of them in a rush to get anywhere. Hanamaki closed his eyes tighter against the sun peeking above the windowsill, hooking his ankles by the small of Matsukawa’s back and narrowing the gap between them. Matsu smiled into their kisses, taking the time to savour the moment, to prolong the enjoyment of unhurried makeouts on a Monday morning.

                 Hanamaki’s coffee was cold by the time he picked it up again and curled up on the couch with Matsukawa to watch the morning news.

                 “Where’s the cat?” Makki swiveled his head around to find her.

                 “Oh, I left her in the bedroom so she wouldn’t try to interfere with a quality face-sucking session.”

                 “Your ability to plan ahead is astounding.”

                 “Well, as much as I love having her act as the world’s cutest cockblock almost all of the time, sometimes, she needs to take a time out.”

                 “Agreed. I’ll go let her out now, though.”

                 “She’d be pissed if she missed the morning news.”

                 “Oh, livid.”

                 “Would never forgive us.”

                 “Absolutely not.” A few minutes later, all three were in a pile of blankets on the couch, heckling and meowing at the weatherman. Occasionally, Wiggles-sama would join in.

 

 

 

                  After what seemed like ages, the four friends were finally reunited at their favourite café, making fun of each other mercilessly. Hanamaki had invited Momo and her boyfriend to come join them, much to everyone’s delight, and they were waiting for the two to arrive.

                  “I love judging people,” said Hanamaki, swiping some of Oikawa’s dessert when he was looking away. Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow at him, but otherwise did nothing to prevent the theft.

                  “I hope he’s better than her last boyfriend,” Iwaizumi commented airily, sending a pointed look Hanamaki’s way. Matsukawa and Oikawa each choked on a laugh.

                  “ _I_ was her last boyfriend, Hajime.” Hanamaki narrowed his eyes at each of his traitorous friends in order, then let his eyes linger on Matsukawa. “And you, _boyfriend_ , are supposed to support me, not laugh at such horrendous mockery.”

                  “I’m allowed to laugh when it’s funny, though.” Matsukawa leaned into Hanamaki to disarm him and was successful in his attempt.

                  “Whatever. Stop being so damn cute. Stop it,” whined Hanamaki, pushing Matsukawa’s face away.

 

                  Momo and Shiro showed up ten minutes later, thankfully interrupting an absurd dessert-centric argument. She hugged all the men in turn, smiling brightly, while Shiro stood politely by her.

                  “It’s been too long! Ah, okay, Shiro, this is Hanamaki Takahiro, The Ex, and that is Matsukawa Issei, his boyfriend, husband, love of his life, what have you. Over here is Iwaizumi Hajime, voice of reason, and next to him is his boyfriend, husband, love of his life and professional volleyball player Oikawa Tooru.”

                  “Wait, you’re the backup setter for the Arrows, aren’t you?” asked Shiro, eyes lighting up. Iwaizumi, Hanamaki and Matsukawa heard Oikawa’s incoming preening and rolled their eyes, though they were also really excited.

                  “How do I keep finding volleyball nerds, I swear?” groaned Momo, smiling, before she squeezed into the booth and let her boyfriend have a fanboy moment with Oikawa.

                  “We’re the wrong people to talk to when it comes to dating volleyball nerds,” sighed Iwaizumi.

                  “Yeah, really.” Matsukawa shrugged his shoulders, a grin softening his features. Hanamaki nodded in agreement.

                  “Look at you two! So gross and happy. I’m really glad you’re finally together,” said Momo, looking from Hanamaki to Matsukawa and back. “Took you long enough.”

                  “We had some technical issues, Momo. Don’t give me that,” mumbled Hanamaki. Matsukawa snorted.

                  “Takahiro, the only technical issues you had were being too big a weenie to ask him out in the first place,” countered Momo, and Iwaizumi burst into laughter. Matsukawa whispered ‘ _oh burn’_ behind Hanamaki.

                  She continued, “and don’t even pretend like you’re any better, Issei.” Iwaizumi kept laughing, the sound getting progressively squeakier. Even Tooru and Shiro paused their enthusiastic conversation to figure out where the odd noise was coming from.

                  “Hajime, is that you?” Oikawa said in disbelief. Iwaizumi nodded, clutching his stomach.

                  “Momo-just- oh my god-“ was all that Hajime could choke out in between gasps. Issei and Takahiro stared incredulously at Momo, then at Hajime, then looked pleadingly at Tooru and Shiro.

                  “Did I just incapacitate the meme team? After how many years of trying?” Oikawa high-fived Momo for her accomplishment while the aforementioned meme team sat silently.

                  “She does have a point,” conceded Issei. Takahiro nodded sadly.

                  “Of course I do, you nerds. I missed your company. Tell me about your lives!” Momo turned to them both, bright and attentive.

                  Everything felt like it was back to normal again.

 

 

 

                  “I’m so scared that I’m going to-“ Makki panted, canting his hips up towards Matsu’s leg, “-wake up and just be fucking my pillow or something.” Matsu snorted, biting and tugging at Makki’s already swollen bottom lip, pulling him closer. Moaning obscenely at the sudden friction against his erection, Makki dug his fingers into Matsu’s clothed hips and yanked him down harder.

                  “I don’t ever want to sleep- _Jesus Christ_ \- on your pillows again if this is what you- _fuck_ -do to them,” Issei squeezed out between kisses and harsh breaths, trying to get his hands everywhere on Takahiro’s body at once. After years of waiting and wanting, they were both like animals, starved for affection and each other’s warmth. Despite their incredible desire, there was still an unspoken barrier between them; Hanamaki didn’t want to push Matsukawa, and Matsukawa didn’t know how to broach the topic to let him know it was okay. They’d be alright for the time being, was the near-psychic consensus, and they continued fooling around with their limits in place.

 

 

 

                    Hanamaki lowered his weight gently onto the bed by Matsukawa's side, frowning slightly at the furrow in his brow. He had slept fitfully, waking Hanamaki up multiple times throughout the night with his sudden movements. After a few months, Makki knew that restless nights like that often led to melancholy days, and an almost impenetrably foul mood. He gently swept the hair from Matsukawa's forehead, smoothing it to the side, willing him to feel better through the touch. Matsu's eyelids fluttered, parting only slightly, accompanied by a sleepy mumble. His eyes crinkled happily when his brain processed Hanamaki's presence, and he reached a hand out from under the pillow to rest on Hanamaki's thigh. 

                   "Morning," Matsukawa croaked, voice rough from sleep, and curled his lips into a soft smile. 

                  "Morning. Hey, I've got a great idea for today so we actually go and get some fresh air." Hanamaki spoke in a low rumble, knowing full well how sensitive Matsukawa was to sound early in the morning. 

                  "Mmkay. Does it involve kisses?"

                  "Very likely."

                  "Does it involve food?"

                  "You know it will. Go back to sleep for a bit, I didn't want to wake you just yet, sorry."

                  "Overcome by my beauty, hmm, Hiro?"

                  Hanamaki flushed. "No, you were snoring." Matsukawa laughed throatily, pushing himself up into a sitting position. 

                  "Uh-huh."

                  "You were."

                  "Snoring with my face _in_ the pillow?"

                  "Yes. It was like a fucking freight train rolling through here, alright?" Hanamaki averted his eyes, letting his gaze roam the room. Matsukawa smiled broadly, turning Hanamaki's head back towards him with gentle fingers. 

                  "Shit, you look exhausted. I'm sorry for waking you up again last night."

                 "You didn't."

                 "I know I did. I'm sorry. Sometimes I just can't sleep and my body doesn't feel right and I can't explain why. I want to sleep on the futon so you can get a good night's sleep, but I guess I selfishly want to be near you-" Matsukawa mumbled apologetically.

                 "It's not selfish. I want you near me, even though you're a straight-up furnace."

                 "You look so tired, Hiro."

                 "Wow, way to compliment me, Casanova."

                 "You know what I mean."

                 "I'm kinda used to running on empty. I haven't gotten a good night's sleep in awhile because I'm stressed. It's not you. The defense has been scaring the shit out of me and that's why I'm extra tired," said Hanamaki quietly.

                 "Are you sure?"

                 Hanamaki nodded. "Yeah."

                "Okay. Let me know if there's anything I can do to help. I'll sleep on the spare-"

                "Don't be an asshole. You're sleeping next to me and that's final."

                "Okay."

                "Good."

                "Now get off the covers, Mr. New Booty. I can't get up if you've got me pinned in here like a dumpling," said Matsukawa, wriggling to get Hanamaki to stand up.

                "You are delicious, that much is true."

                "Gross." Matsukawa grinned, smothering Hanamaki's face with his palm. 

                "Your hands are sweaty, ugh." Hanamaki sprung to his feet, wiping his face with the hem of his shirt. Matsukawa took the covers off and got up, grabbing Hanamaki by the wrist and tugging him over. They stood chest to chest by the bedroom window, so quiet that the din of the city waking up in the distance surrounded them. They held eye contact for much too long for Hanamaki's taste, and he surged forward to kiss Matsukawa, grabbing his face and pulling him down. Matsu moaned quietly at the unexpected fierceness, curling his fingers around Makki's hips and pulling him tighter, curving his body around him. Matsu pulled away to suck in a gasping breath, mumbling something about brushing his teeth, but Makki shook his head, pressing their lips together again. 

 

                Once they were dressed, Makki dragged Matsu down their street and into the convenience store on the corner. They grabbed a hot coffee and tea, respectively, and continued the walk to their station. Their pace was one that belonged to Saturday mornings spent with loved ones, responsibilities and early wakeups be damned. They didn't hold hands, though they wanted to, but their skin would brush every other step and that electric buzz was enough to keep them smiling. 

 

                They were pressed up against each other on the sparsely populated train, both watching some commercial above the door of the car. 

                "So, where are we going?" asked Matsukawa.

                "Not telling."

                " _Hiro_."

               "Nope! It's a surprise. Be patient."

               "Bit rich, coming from you."

               "Shut up."

 

                While changing trains, Hanamaki had ordered Matsukawa to stand off to the side while he bought tickets for another line. 

                "Oh, are we going to Odaiba?" Matsu asked, staring up at the schedule. Hanamaki frowned. 

                "I told you not to look over my shoulder!" Matsukawa snorted as Hanamaki gave him a half-hearted push and stalked off towards the platform. 

                "It doesn't change the fact that I'm excited, you nerd, come here." A cold shiver ran down his spine thinking he'd actually upset Hanamaki. He caught up, relieved that they were the only people at the stop so he could wrap his arms around his boyfriend and murmur an apology into his the top of his head. Despite his somewhat dramatic exit, Hanamaki was smiling. 

                "I know. I just wanted it to be a surprise. I'm not actually mad."

                "Oh." Relief washed over Matsukawa and his heart stilled. Hanamaki's eyes widened when he noticed how tightly wound Matsukawa had been a moment prior. 

               "Oh fuck, I'm sorry, baby, I didn't- shit." He fumbled for an appropriate way to apologize, to backtrack and erase such a thoughtless gesture. 

               "No, no, no, it's okay, it's okay-" Matsukawa tightened his grip on Hanamaki to reassure him, though it didn't help much. 

               "No, I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry."

               "I'm fine! Really. You can behave normally around me. Sometimes an irrational part of my brain makes my body freak out-"

               "I know, but I don't want to be the reason that happens."

               "Sometimes it happens because there are too many dishes in the sink, sometimes because I dropped a spoon, sometimes because I happen to be breathing. It's stupid and irrational, and has nothing to do with you. You honestly make me feel better. You're the exact opposite of a problem."

               "So, a solution." Hanamaki looked up, a shit-eating grin growing on his face. 

               "You're a little shit," groaned Matsukawa 

               "What happened to me making you feel better?" 

               "You do, but you're still a little shit."

               "I love you, you double-decker meme. I just want you to be happy," Hanamaki sighed, resting his forehead on Matsukawa's shoulder. 

               "I am," said Matsukawa.

               "Yeah?"

               "I don't think I've ever been happier." Matsukawa leaned his head against Hanamaki's. 

               "Sounds fake, but okay.”

               "It's the truth."

               "Mm." Makki hummed happily, his smile all but hidden by Matsu's shirt. 

               "By the way-" Matsu began, a thread of mirth in his tone warning of impending disaster. Makki lifted his head slowly. "Did you call me 'baby' earlier?"

               The response came too quickly. "No."

               "You called me baby," repeated Issei, grinning.

               "I didn't."

               "I think you did."

               "No, I think you're tired and hearing things."

               "Right. I love you, _babe_." Issei grinned. 

               "You're embarrassing."

               "Nah. I do think I want to hear you call me baby again, though."

               "'Again' implies there was a first time."

               "Your stubbornness is a thing of legend."

               "King Stubborn and the Knights of the Salt Table."

               "Who would be your knights?"

               "Obviously you three dumbasses."

               "I don't get to be your queen?"

               "No, you'll be my mistress knight. We have to sneak around the castle to hide our torrid affair."

               "Affair? How naughty! I imagine I'd have sweet armor," added Matsukawa, keen on keeping the mental image going.

               "Overtop of petticoats."

               "What the fuck is this, an rpg?"

               "I just want to see you in a dress, obviously," said Hanamaki, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

               Matsukawa's eyes took on a dangerous glint. What was a comment said only in jest took a turn for the frisky. 

               "You could have just asked," Matsu purred low in Makki's ear. 

               "Holy fuck. You're- are you serious right now? Don't fuck with me."

               "I'd put on a frilly skirt and thigh highs for you." Matsu arched an eyebrow at Makki's glazed over facial expression. "Hello? Earth to Takahiro?"

               "We should go look at those...in the future."

               "We can do that. You know what we should do first?" Makki looked up hopefully. "We should probably have sex when we get back this afternoon."

               "Yeah, that's- that's a good idea. Great idea. That. _Yes_."

               "Because I've been thinking about it a lot."

               "Yeah? Oh," Hanamaki whispered.

               "Yeah."

               "Me too."

               "Mm, the train's here."

               "It is."

               "Come on, don't let your resolve weaken now, Hiro. We've got the rest of our lives. What's another few hours?" Matsukawa teased, trailing his fingers down Hanamaki's spine and feeling him shiver. Makki walked into the train first, eyes shining with delight. 

 

                There were still tourists meandering down the shoreline despite how early in the morning it was, but Matsukawa and Hanamaki managed to isolate themselves a bit with long strides. They slowed to a leisurely pace once they had left the families behind, feet sinking into the damp sand. The waves lapped gently up on the shore, stirred by a cool breeze. The humidity hung heavy in the air already and Hanamaki was glad they had taken advantage of the day; it was going to be blisteringly hot and muggy by the afternoon.

                Without warning, Matsukawa stopped and faced the water, breathing deeply. Hanamaki took his place by his side, pressing their bodies together. Issei smiled and closed his eyes, letting himself get lost in the moment, enjoying being alive. Takahiro coiled his pinky around Issei's and stared out over the waterfront and at the ducks bobbing up and down on the small waves. He felt at peace here, Hanamaki did, listening to the murmur of the water with Matsukawa's warmth anchoring him in the present. He watched the tension leave Issei's body like it was being siphoned off by the day and knew this was more than worth it. Matsukawa opened his eyes, sliding his gaze over to Hanamaki. Hanamaki couldn't be happier. 

                "This was a great idea, really. Thank you," breathed Issei.

                "I just thought it could help us take a break from," Takahiro gestured in circles, "everything."

                "Yeah." 

                They continued walking back and forth along the strip of beach until they had worked up enough of an appetite to buy bentos and plop down on the boardwalk. It was beginning to get crowded, and warm, so they inhaled their food, exchanging quiet smiles, and made their way back to the train stop. Neither said many words as they traveled back into the city, comfortable in each other's presence and completely at ease with their lives for at least a brief moment. 

 

 

                They exchanged no words once the apartment door had closed behind them; they padded quietly on the wood floors into the bedroom where they kissed languidly, peeling off layers of clothing, taking their time. Despite her complaints, Wiggles-sama was exiled to the hallway and Takahiro shut the door to keep her out.

                Issei threw Takahiro’s shirt on the ground and bent to kiss along his collarbones, his hands sliding down Takahiro’s stomach to rest on his hips. Makki’s small gasps and frantic grabbing did nothing to help keep the pace slow, and Matsu was testing the boundaries of his self-control as it was.

                It wasn’t long before they were both naked, roving hands getting bolder and bodies beginning to shine with sweat. Makki gently nudged Matsu back onto the bed, climbing on top of him and grinding his hips down.

                “Shit,” moaned Matsukawa, rutting up to grind their erections together again. Hanamaki straddled Matsukawa and regarded him for a moment, quietly storing away memory upon memory of the look on Matsukawa’s face. Hanamaki couldn’t even bring himself to say any number of silly things sitting on the tip of his tongue; instead, he brought his hand down to the one Matsukawa had resting on his thigh and grasped it. He stroked the rough fingers with his thumb, rubbing circles while his mind considered how they’d feel in him.

                Matsukawa smiled gently enough to break Hanamaki down completely, making him wonder how they had ever doubted the feelings they had for one another. Matsukawa’s free hand rubbed Hanamaki’s shoulder, curling around his bicep and taking stock of the muscle there. He continued down Hanamaki’s forearm to his wrist, and finally his hand. He brought Hanamaki’s hand to his lips and kissed along his fingers, then carefully took each one in his mouth in sequence, almost smiling when he saw the way Makki watched him hungrily.

                “Issei,” gasped Hanamaki, his hips twitching with the need for some kind of friction. He bit his lip when Matsukawa looked back up at him, withdrawing a finger from his mouth.

                “Hm?”

                “I want,” began Makki, pausing for a second. “Finger me.”

                Nodding slowly, Matsu rolled them over, supporting Makki’s head with his hand as he did.

                “Where’s-“

                “Top drawer, where else?” Hanamaki interrupted, earning a chuckle. Matsukawa reached over and pulled out a well-loved bottle. He raised an eyebrow. “I think about you a lot. Shut up.”

                “I wasn’t going to say anything,” murmured Matsukawa, leaning in to nip at Hanamaki’s ear and draw little pleased sounds out of his throat.

                 “Get on with it, I’m dying, here,” Takahiro insisted, wriggling beneath Issei. Matsukawa shifted down the mattress so that each exhale swept by Hanamaki’s dick and made him squirm.

                “What?”

                “ _Dying._ ”

                Matsukawa warmed the lube between his fingers and circled a finger along the rim of Hanamaki’s entrance. Before Hanamaki had any chance to properly complain about the teasing, Matsukawa took the head of his dick in his mouth and let his finger slide into Hanamaki. What Hanamaki had intended to be a complaint left his lips as a high whine, dropping lower as he felt the first knuckle stretch him. Matsukawa hummed, lapping at Hanamaki’s dick, wetting it so he could take more into his mouth. Hanamaki had long since forgotten any possible insult or word and lay pressed into the mattress, chest rising and falling quickly.

               The pleasure had replaced any sort of coherency in his body, the sensation burning along his nerves while Matsukawa worked his finger in and out, adding a second one when Hanamaki was ready. It took a few minutes of sensory overload to realize Matsukawa’s moaning was from the enjoyment of dismantling Hanamaki and nothing else. Once Hanamaki was comfortable with three fingers, Matsukawa began feeling around for his prostate. Unable to continue multi-tasking with his mouth and hands, Matsukawa focused on rubbing Hanamaki’s prostate and slowly stroking his dick with his other hand instead.

               Hanamaki had one arm thrown over his face, breathing into sweat-damp skin as his whole body throbbed. He wanted it to end, he wanted to fall over the precipice, but he also didn’t. Torn, he just mumbled strange permutations of swear words and Issei’s name as he climbed ever higher. He came in thick white ropes across his chest not long after, moaning Matsukawa’s name as he did. When he finally opened his eyes to look at Matsukawa, Hanamaki was surprised to find that he looked nearly as wrecked as Hanamaki felt. Matsukawa was sweaty and breathing hard, eyes glazed over with desire, his erection curving up from between his thighs and demanding attention. Grabbing a tissue from the side table, Matsukawa tidied Hanamaki up half-heartedly, knowing that they were about to make an even bigger mess.

              Gathering his wits about him, Hanamaki sat up and kissed Matsukawa, slipping his tongue into his mouth with a happy hum. Matsukawa groaned when Hanamaki climbed into his lap, then tipped them both back onto the covers.

              "And now I know what my dick tastes like," said Makki when he pulled back.

              "You are such an asshole," Matsu said with no real anger, just exasperated fondness.

              "Mmm, I do it so well, don't I?"

              "Are you just gonna lie there and sass me, or do you want me to put my dick in your ass, hmm?"

              "That's what I've been waiting for this whole time! What, do you want a written request for penetration or something?" Contorting himself in the direction of the night stand, Makki swiped the notebook and pen perched on its edge. He propped it up on his bent knee and began dictating his own writing.

              "To whom it may concern," he began, writing tidily, "I, Hanamaki Takahiro, wish to formally request," Matsukawa started chuckling throatily, and though he was trying his best to keep a straight face throughout the process, Hanamaki too was fighting a grin.

             "Oh my God, ‘Hiro, I can't believe-"

              Hanamaki continued, more loudly this time, as Matsukawa's laughter increased in volume, "-wish to formally request penetration from one Matsukawa Issei. Signed and dated. Boom." He thrust the notebook under Issei's nose, smiling wryly.

              "That's hardly a legally binding contract. I mean, there's no time specified, so I could just keep you here as long as I wanted. Technically." Issei bent over and placed a soft kiss on the lean muscle of Takahiro's belly.

             "I will end you." Hanamaki propped himself up on his elbows, glaring as menacingly as he could while both naked and aroused. Matsukawa grinned.

             "Then you won't be able to have sex with me."

             "Fucking- just- Issei!" Matsu leaned back on his haunches and took pause.

             "You okay?" Given Takahiro's propensity for becoming an extra egregious, motormouth sass-machine when nervous, Issei wanted to make sure they were on the same page before proceeding. Hanamaki looked Matsukawa in the eyes, a tender kind of seriousness looking strangely out of place on his features, and nodded. His gaze flicked away immediately after.

            "Yeah, just a little nervous, I guess."

            "Yeah, me too." They both chuckled at their own goofiness, then shifted gears into one teasing kiss, then another, escalating into a sloppy, passionate meeting of tongues and bruising bites. Matsukawa pulled away for a moment to cradle Hanamaki’s cheek in his hand.

            “Yes?” Makki droned, sticking his tongue out in an attempt to lick Matsu’s palm.

            “Tell me if anything hurts.”

            “You’re about to shove something the size of the wrong end of a baseball bat up my ass. I think it’s probably going to hurt a little.”

            “Which end is the _wrong_ end of a baseball bat?” Issei asked, voice trembling with mirth.

            “The one that looks like your dick, but metal. It can be wood. I mean, yours is-” Matsu was still kneeling between Makki’s thighs, his upper body collapsed on top of Makki’s stomach as they both shook with unrestrained laughter.

            “I- I’m not sure this is regulation si- size-”

            Makki sat up, grabbing Matsu’s very persistent erection in both hands and stating in all seriousness, “The length seems about right, but I’m not sure I could get a good swing in with you attached to it.”

            “I- can’t- breathe-” The peals of laughter softened into chuckles, which further softened into gentle nuzzling and caresses, finishing with a kiss so thorough and deep that Makki was pretty sure he had signed over his soul when it ended.

            “Okay, I, yeah, do you wanna?” he stammered, rubbing up and down Matsu’s biceps and looking up with a hopeful glint in his eyes. Matsu nodded, laying Makki back down and propping his hips up with a pillow.

            “Again, _tell me_ if you want me to stop.”

            “Okay.”

            “Okay?”

            “Okay.” Confident they were on the same page, Matsu slicked himself up with some more lube and gently began pressing against Makki’s entrance. He didn’t miss the way Makki braced himself. “ _Relax_.”

            “I’m trying.”

            “You’re doing a shit job of it,” Matsukawa teased, running a hand through Hanamaki’s sweaty hair, mussing it up further.

            “Less talking, more dicking.” Hanamaki scowled at Matsukawa’s grin and put his fists on his hips. He pursed his lips to underscore his point.

            “Yes, sir!” Hanamaki only slightly regretted his earlier eagerness when his body began stretching to the absolute maximum to accommodate Matsukawa. He had been well prepared and relaxed, but it was still more of a burn than a comfortable stretch. Makki tried his best to not let the discomfort show on his face, but evidently, Matsu knew him better than that.

            “Why’d you stop?”

            “To let you get adjusted. You stopped breathing.”

            “I did not!” Makki countered, shifting to adjust around the intrusion. Matsu gasped. “What? Are you okay?”

            “Shit, you just clenched up and you are _tight_. Hoooly shit. I’m not gonna last like this, at all. We’ll be lucky if I can actually get in you.” Matsu’s brows were drawn and his eyes closed while he tried to distract himself from the intense pressure and heat.

            “You can say that again.” Hanamaki relaxed back into the pillows, pulling Matsukawa down with him. They kissed again and again, and the temperature between them began to rise with gentle touches, relaxing Hanamaki enough to allow Matsukawa in completely. Hips nudging at Takahiro’s, Issei rested his weight on his palms, breathing hard.

            “You’re amazing, you know that?” Matsu murmured, dropping to his elbows. He pressed his forehead to Makki’s temple. He looked down and saw that Makki was almost hard again, which was reassuring.

            “I do. I’m pretty great, if I do say so myself. Man, do you always feel so _full_? I feel like my body is ninety percent you right now.”

            Matsu raised his head to look Makki in the eyes. “Does it still hurt?”

            “No, it’s- it’s, actually, no. I just, yeah, it feels kinda good.” Makki nodded, the right side of his mouth quirking up.

            “Yeah?”

            “Uh-huh. You can move, if you want. I’m ready. I kinda like having you in me. I don’t know. Fuck, I’m so embarrassing.” Hanamaki blushed up to the ears and looked away. Matsukawa’s breath caught between an inhale and a relieved laugh.

            “I love you. So much.”

            “Don’t get fucking gross on me now. Save that for the afterglow.” Hanamaki chuckled, and the sound warped into something much more guttural when Matsukawa thrusted slowly but deliberately.

            “That okay?”

            “Do that again.” Matsu complied eagerly, finding a gentle and consistent pace that had Makki squirming and gasping under him. He leaned down, missing part of Hanamaki’s mouth and biting at his lower lip as his thrusts slowly grew in urgency, sloppily kissing along Makki’s neck and face. No matter how hard he tried to focus on delaying his pleasure or abating it, it wasn’t working very well; he felt it curling low in his belly and he groaned loudly by Makki’s ear repeatedly without really meaning to.

Hanamaki’s nails were dug into his back, pressing ever deeper, until he pulled one hand free to roughly stroke himself. Matsukawa whimpered, his rhythm stuttering when his gaze dropped to admire Hanamaki’s fingers smearing precome along his length.

            “I’m not gonna last- _shit_ -“

            “Issei, come on, don’t hold back,” Makki gasped, briefly making eye contact before arching up impressively when Matsu grazed his prostate with a thrust. It was too much but not enough for Hanamaki as he came again a few thrusts later, a moan to scare the neighbours tearing from his throat. Knowing Hanamaki had been taken care of, Matsukawa relaxed, allowing himself to hit his own climax with a shout, and collapse onto Hanamaki in a sweaty, boneless mess.

            “Ho-ly fuck,” muttered Matsukawa into Hanamaki’s neck as every muscle throbbed pleasantly.

            “Yeah. Wow.”

            “Why did we wait so long?” asked Matsukawa, sliding off of Hanamaki to give him more room to breathe.

            “I- I’m not sure.”

            They lay face-to-face, smiling, until exhaustion dragged them both into sleep.

 

 

           Matsukawa woke first, roughly an hour later, face splitting into a grin as he began to croon:

           "Your a-ass is a wonderlaaaand-" Hanamaki opened one eye.

           "Don't John Mayer my ass! It deserves something more badass and aggressive, like DragonForce. Though the Ass and Flames," he corrected, only slightly indignant.

          "I am not having sex to DragonForce, and that title sounds like the aftermath of a chili pepper eating contest.” Matsukawa shuddered.

          "You wound me, even after I gave you my butt v-card. I already regret this," stated Hanamaki. Matsukawa tweaked his nose. "You couldn't handle the tempo anyway."

          "I am not ashamed to admit that I'd probably break every bone below the waist trying-" Takahiro waggled his eyebrows lecherously. "-shut up."

          "You'd also probably tear me a new one, and not in a fun way."

          "Is there really a fun way to have a new asshole torn?" wondered Matsukawa out loud.

          "If it's metaphorical and directed at people that suck, yes," said Hanamaki.

          "Fair point. Either way, no DragonForce in bed."

          "Then what?"

          "Let me think about it."

          "What about Nine Inch Nails' 'Closer?'" Hanamaki brought his fingertips together, smirking deviously.

          "Remind me which song that is,” Matsukawa said, brows drawn.

          " _I want to fuck you like an animal_ -"

          "Right, that song."

          " _I want to feel you from the in-siiiide_ -"

          "Oh no. Please don’t serenade me. "

          " _I want to fuck you like an aniiimal_ -"

          "I mean, I'm fine with that part. That sounds great."

          " _My whoooole existence is flaaaawed_!"

          "I regret learning English."

          " _YOU BRING ME CLOSER TO_ -" Matsukawa kissed Hanamaki to end his misery, rolling on top of him and roughly shoving his tongue in his mouth. Makki whimpered, his poor attempts at wooing his boyfriend with a song all but forgotten.

          “You ready for round two? I’ll let you fuck me like an animal, if you want?” Matsu asked, already reaching for the drawer. Makki grabbed Matsu’s butt and growled out an affirmative noise.

 

 

 

 

          Oikawa and Iwaizumi were absolutely beside themselves with laughter. Oikawa boldly exclaimed that this was his favourite visit yet.

          “What? It’s not _that_ funny!”

          “Takahiro, you haven’t been able to sit properly for the past week. It’s fucking hysterical.”

          “Issei, ease up on him for a bit!” Oikawa slapped Matsukawa’s wrist, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

          “Actually, no. He _asks_ for this,” Matsukawa countered, setting the record straight.

          “Jesus Christ,” swore Iwaizumi.

          “Yes, but. Let me tell you. For one, all those times we saw each other naked in the showers were a fucking lie. This man-” Hanamaki pointed an accusing finger, “-is actually probably a horse. I don’t know. Whatever that _thing_ is, it’s too big to be healthy. It’s- I don’t even know.”

          “As I last recall, you really didn’t have a problem with the _thing_ this morni-”  
           

          “I never said I had a problem with it. I’m merely stating that you are, in fact, probably not human.”

          “Only for you, baby,” cooed Matsukawa.

          “Swoon! Wait, if you’re not human, does that make me a furry?” Hanamaki wondered.

          “I think I’m still human. Sorry, Tooru. I suppose if I were a horse, that might make you a furry. Or maybe just a pervert.”

          Hanamaki nodded sagely. “Well, I’ve got the pervert part down. Are horses furry?”

          “True enough. And what the fuck do you mean, are horses furry? They have hair all over their bodies!”

          “I don’t know! They’re always so sleek and plastic-looking.”

          “So now we’re talking My Little Pony. Man, we’re really flying through the kinks today.” Matsukawa smirked at Hanamaki’s exasperated eye roll, protesting when the bastard stole gyoza out of his bowl.

          “We’re still at the table.” Iwaizumi glowered.

          “We know. Aren’t you glad we’re together now?” Hanamaki beamed, holding Iwaizumi’s gaze while shoving his chopsticks and stolen gyoza into Matsukawa’s mouth aggressively. Matsu’s eyes watered from the effort of not choking on the chopsticks he was almost being forced to deep throat. He waved a hand at Makki, who withdrew the utensils apologetically and let Matsu breathe.

          “We are! I don’t know why either of us are surprised that nothing’s changed,” Oikawa commented, slurping up some noodles.

          “Except the sex,” Makki added, mouth full.

          “Mm, the sex is a good addition to our friendship,” Matsu agreed, throwing a glance Makki’s way from the corner of his eye.

          “Mm.” Makki hummed.

          Matsu drew out the sound so it bordered on obscene. “Mmmm.” Oikawa let out a scandalized gasp.

          “Not. Here,” Iwaizumi admonished, angrily picking up a piece of pork.

          “When nature calls, Hajime.”

          “That only applies for having to go to the bathroom. There’s nothing in there about moaning in public.”

          “But we are weak, dearest Hajime.”

          “They’re in love, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa cooed, winking mischievously.

          “Not you too?” Hajime groaned, burying his face in his hands.

          “I mean, Tooru’s not wrong. We have a lot of feelings.” Hanamaki said around a mouthful of food.

          “Dick feelings.” Matsukawa gestured formally.

          “Yes. Dick feelings. Sometimes, I give him a pat on the back to let him know he is dear to me, too.”

          “It’s very touching.” Matsukawa and Hanamaki made eye contact.

          “Ayyyyyy!” They said in unison, and both Oikawa and Iwaizumi started laughing, unable to pretend that they were anything less than elated for their friends.

 

 

 

          “Yes. Yes, sir. Of course. No, thank _you_. Yes. Monday at eight. Yes. Yes. Have a great day. Thank you. Bye.” Makki stood on the couch, leaning forward like a cat ready to pounce, his and Matsu’s _actual_ cat perched calmly on a bookshelf behind Matsu, observing. Matsu hung up the phone, accidentally flung it much further than he had intended and turned to a wide-eyed Makki with an equally absurd look on his face.

          “AND?” Makki was vibrating with nerves, his body almost entirely in Matsu’s personal space. Matsu’s face split in a grin and he threw his arms out.

          “GUESS WHO’S EMPLOYED?!” Matsu nigh yelled, buckling under the sudden addition of 180 pounds of thrilled boyfriend. They both tumbled to the ground, whooping with joy and exchanging a sloppy kiss as they collided with the floor.

          “I’m so proud of you,” Hanamaki murmured against Matsukawa’s lips.

          “It’s just an entry-level job writing small advertisements, ‘Hiro. It’s not like I’m getting published, or anything,” said Matsukawa, slowly stroking along Hanamaki’s side.

          “So? I’m still proud of you. You sent out all those resumes and went to all those interviews wearing that- listen, that suit is not fair. You could kill a man. But, aside from that, you finally got your swagger back.” Makki rested his head over Matsu’s heart, twining their hands together.

          “I feel more like the person I used to be. I mean, I don’t think I can ever go back to that,” Matsu paused, causing Makki’s heart to skip a beat from worry, “but I think I’ve learned something, at least. I feel more like _me_ now than I ever did.” He carded his hand through Hanamaki’s hair, smiling when he got hugged more tightly. A fluffy cat tail smacked him across the eyes as Wiggles-sama made her presence known.

          “I’m happy to hear that. I really am.” Hanamaki burrowed further into Matsukawa’s sweater, reassured by the steady heartbeat.

          “What, no joke?”

          Hanamaki shook his head, then lifted it so he could hold Matsukawa’s gaze. “Not this time. I’m just genuinely happy when you are. You deserve the world, Issei, you do.”

          “You know it’s still really weird when you’re completely honest, right?” teased Matsukawa.

          “You mention it every time, yes, thanks.”

          “It’s funny how when we met, I thought you didn’t give a shit about anything.”

          “Well, I really don’t give a shit about anything,” mused Hanamaki.

          “That’s a lie and you know it.”

          “I give a shit about a select few things.”

          “That’s true, and those things, you give a lot of shits about,” Matsukawa murmured into Hanamaki’s neck.

          “Mmm.”

          “Hey, ‘Hiro?”

          “Yeah?”

          “Have we had sex on this part of the floor yet?”

          “Come to think of it, heh – come, we haven’t. Challenge accepted?” asked Hanamaki.

          “Challenge accepted. Good sir, fetch the sexual paraphernalia, I must ride thee into the sunset!”

          “It’s noon! Do you really have the thigh strength to ride me for nearly seven hours?”

          “I can damned well try.”

          “No complaints here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also tbh, Matsu would've probably blown his load immediately given his inexperience as a top, BUT FOR THE STORY'S SAKE...


	13. the end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which everyone gets what they deserve.

THREE YEARS LATER

 

Takahiro was on the verge of tears when he unfurled the sign, blocking both Hajime and Issei’s view with the obnoxiously green poster. Hajime leaned around it to read the front and snorted.

“Glitter,” Hajime stated, not a single note of surprise in his voice. Takahiro nodded proudly.

“You know, if I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life with you before, this would have done it,” said Issei, chortling unattractively. He looked over at Takahiro, eyes crinkled in a broad grin. Their eyes met and both looked away, soft smiles on their lips and colour high on their cheeks.  Hajime cleared his throat.

“You realize that Tooru is going to actually see this sign, right?”

“That’s the point of the sixty centimeter tall glittery letters reading ‘I’m pregnant,’ Hajime.” Takahiro presented it like it was the most normal thing in the world. Issei clutched his stomach, his mind looping possible expressions Tooru could wear upon seeing the monstrosity of a poster at his first game as a starter.

“You had to write ‘and it’s yours,’ at the bottom, didn’t you?” sighed Hajime.

“Absolutely.”

“It’s a good thing I gave up on you long ago,” Hajime muttered, turning back to the still empty court.

Oikawa Tooru, starting setter for the Arrows, made his debut in the sports magazines with a look of absolute horror on his face, mouth open and water dribbling out of it.

His peanut gallery nearly asphyxiated from laughter.

ooo

Neither Issei nor Takahiro had any self-control when it came to seeing the other in a suit. The moment one had finished doing up the buttons, the shirt would be stripped off equally as quickly, and this was why it took them nearly two hours to get dressed and out the door.

“It’s a good thing we scheduled our uncontrollable thirst,” said Takahiro, adjusting his bowtie while Issei pulled into the parking lot. He saw Hajime and Tooru’s car parked in a corner and stopped just short of the space right next to it.

“Wanna get out and fold in your mirror?”

“I really hope you’re going to block the driver’s side again.” Takahiro grinned mischievously, getting out of the car and watching Issei park a scant thirty centimetres from the other car. Issei exited the vehicle, smug, and fixed his tie.

“Perfect.”

“Hajime is going to murder you,” hummed Takahiro.

“I will die a happy man,” Issei said, ducking down to quickly kiss the corner of Takahiro’s mouth.

“Ew.”

Momo looked so happy, and so beautiful in a sassy knee-length dress, and Shiro looked at her like she was the most precious thing on the entire planet. Their ceremony was short, sweet, and worth it for more than one reason. Hajime cried for the entirety of the vows, vehemently denying that he was doing so.

“Of course you’re not crying. You just have a champagne glass in your eye. Don’t worry, it’ll come out with major surgery,” Takahiro teased and accepted the punch to his shoulder without a shred of dignity. He wailed theatrically and collapsed across Issei’s lap, demanding revenge for his murder while Tooru fed Hajime tissues. 

Later, at the reception, Shiro had excused himself to go speak to some relatives, so Momo took a moment to sit at a table with Hajime, Tooru, Issei and Takahiro. 

“I can’t wait to get into sweatpants,” she whined, smoothing down the delicate folds of her dress.

“Same here, honestly,” Hajime agreed, loosening his tie just enough to remain presentable. 

“But Iwa-chan, you hardly ever wear a tuxedo!” Tooru smoothed down Hajime’s tie.

“With good reason,” Issei interjected. “He’d murder so many people if he wore this more often. I mean, he’s killed half the female populace in here already. The half that Tooru didn’t, that is.”

“It’s a good thing you two nerds look like dressed up potatoes, huh?” Momo laughed, looping her arms around Takahiro and Issei’s necks, pulling them in close. “I’m so happy for you, you know that?”

“Excuse me, this is  _ your  _ wedding. We’re supposed to be happy for you,” Takahiro said, flicking her shoulder.

“Aren’t you?” Her grin was blinding and Takahiro knew she’d found her home in Shiro. 

“Of course, Momo,” he said softly, and stood to embrace her. When she pulled away, she was a little watery eyed, but smiling all the same. “But I swear, if he ever messes up or does something wildly inappropriate, like wear socks with sandals, or leave the drawers open-”

“You mean, if he acts like you?” Issei asked, smiling innocently as he ducked to avoid a smack upside the head from Momo.

“I  _ mean _ , if he treats you any worse than you deserve, kick his ass. And if you don’t feel like getting your hands dirty, we can do that for you. I would offer Hajime, but he’s a-” Takahiro did air quotations around the word ‘doctor,’ “-and can’t do any harm, or something.”

“Why the hell did you put quotations around that?” Hajime asked in a vaguely threatening tone.

“Because it’s ridiculous to think that you are now Dr. Iwaizumi,” Takahiro said, then turned back to Momo. “You got that?”

“Of course! Now, it looks like I’m being waved over to kiss hands and shake babies some more. I better see you all on the dance floor later!” Momo left in a whirlwind of tulle and glitter.

“I can’t wait for us to be drunk uncles, Takahiro,” Issei said off-hand, watching Momo jump into Shiro’s arms from across the room and nearly topple him over.

“Same.”

 

Despite all their comical gagging over the next slow song, Takahiro and Issei got to their feet with some assistance from the Hajime-Tooru complex, and took the dance floor. Fully intent on being as ridiculous as possible, Takahiro was caught off guard by Issei’s gentle but firm hand on his waist. Issei scooped up his other hand and swept him into a slow waltz. 

“Be more of a romantic, will you?” Takahiro teased, resting the side of his head against Issei’s.

“I could be, but it’s tacky to ask someone to marry you during a wedding reception,” Issei whispered, kissing the side of Takahiro’s head. Takahiro’s heart began beating wildly in his chest and his hands trembled.

“What?” 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that, it just kinda- okay, let’s just-” Issei scrambled for words, trying to keep the shaking to a minimum as they gently swayed to the music. Takahiro leaned back to see Issei’s eyes and froze. His eyes were glassy as he pressed another small kiss to Takahiro’s forehead.

“No, I would? I will? Was that a joke?”

“No, it wasn’t- I just never thought we’d ever get here and now I’m so stupidly happy with you and we’re at Momo’s wedding and she’s happy, and you look so good in a suit and Tooru and Hajime are so in love and all I want is for this to go on forever, Takahiro.”

“So let’s do it,” Takahiro says, and he’s pretty sure his eyes are watering visibly.

“We’re so tacky,” Issei chuckles through a very enthusiastic kiss that Takahiro initiates, oblivious to the world around them.

“So tacky. The tackiest.”

“I love it,” Issei whispers, pulling Takahiro into a tight hug. They sway awkwardly, waltz completely forgotten.

“I love  _ you _ .”

“Gross.”

“So we’re gonna do this?”

“I want to.”

“Can you believe that you’re stuck with me forever now?” Takahiro asks while nudging them both back into a proper sort of dance so they won’t make a spectacle of themselves.

“That’s pretty much all I’ve ever wanted,” Issei replies. “That, and a job. But I’ve got that already.”

“You just murdered the moment.”

“Just killed it. It’s gone, leaving behind a mourning family.”

“Twelve momentlings and a moment-spouse,” Takahiro wails.

“I am a terrible person.”

“Absolutely.” Takahiro rests their cheeks together once more, and they pretend, for now, that the moisture on their faces is just from a good, vigorous dancing session. To a slow song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT, EVERYONE. THAT'S IT??
> 
> So, I know you probably forgot about this fic by now because I am the Worst(TM) at updating, but here it is. Thanks so much for reading! 
> 
>  
> 
> **Please read all of this below before you go, though!**
> 
>  
> 
> When I started this fic, I was still in an awful relationship with a piece of ... something ... that made Ichiro look like a model boyfriend. This was meant to be a cathartic work to help me get through the mess my life had become and it sorta follows the basic story of the past 5 or 6 years of my life. THANKFULLY, I had a network of extremely wonderful people that helped me get out of my own personal hell and into a much better place, and that is exactly where I write this from. (Please also don't interpret this as a call to pity me, by any means - it's more to explain context)
> 
> If any of your friends, or you personally, have experienced behaviour like this, please, please, _please_ realize that it isn't okay. I know it's hard and terrible to look at this objectively, but recognize that what I depicted with Ichiro and Mattsun is not healthy and not balanced and not how you want to spend your life. You deserve better. A lot better. You deserve happiness, even if you have to be alone for awhile, okay? Anyway, if you ever want someone to listen or talk to, my [inbox](http://gnetophyta.tumblr.com) is always open. I would be happy if I could help at least one other human get out of a mess like this.
> 
> ANYWAY, thank you so much to everyone who read this fic, who commented, who shared stories, or helped me with the writing process. It's meant so much to me, and I don't think I can ever quite express how much. <3


End file.
